She had fled back to Florence quite intent on slitting the new bride’s throat. "Mr. Wait a moment. “Won’t you give me your address?” She shook her head. "Had I not been the guilty wretch I am," he cried, bursting into an agony of tears, "she would never have died thus. “I wonder if you will?” “Let me say one thing,” he said. She found a clean sweatshirt and soft pajama pants, glad to trade the wet for the dry.
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