Murder, I say, has been done! Another murder will be committed if you don't prevent it. A thin line of red appeared in the white neck. She realized more and more the quality of the brink upon which she stood—the dreadful readiness with which in certain moods she might plunge, the unmitigated wrongness and recklessness of such a self-abandonment. Fame of any sort was folly and she knew better.
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