As soon as the service was over, Thames contrived to approach him, and whispered, "Be cautious,—the funeral will take place after evening service. The action steadied him; and there was a phase of irony, too, that helped. “Then either this man shot himself or some one else shot him immediately before your arrival—or rather if it was not himself the person who did it was in the room, say two minutes, before you arrived. Here was Ruth Enschede—sick of love! Love—something the world would always keep hidden from her, at least human love. ‘Where are you taking me?’ she asked, assuming a fearful accent. ” Anna smiled very faintly, and shook her head. Yes. "Aren't you afraid?" "Of what?"—serenely. “You are unjust and quixotic, Anna, you have no right to treat any one as you are treating me. I haven’t murdered any one, or broken the law in any way that I know of. Somebody ought to talk to him, warn him.
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