It is I who am persecuted by the man who calls himself your husband. Gone were the old days where an old maid banged on an upright piano above a roaring crowd, this sound was loud enough to be heard outside the building, she thought to herself as her eardrums throbbed. ” “It’s so strange to think of you—troubled by such things. ” “What!” he asked; “not a kiss?” She affected not to hear. ‘And it is me you dare accuse? It is yourself you should arrest.
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