He fell back upon the pillows with a little moan, clutching the slim white fingers fiercely. "If any one's to blame, it's me. Perhaps some one had kissed the brow that was now so cadaverous, rubbed that sunken cheek with loving fingers, held that stringy neck with passionately living hands. This adventure of yours has gone on altogether too long; it has become a serious distress to both your aunt and myself. At last—I told a story. \"Didn't have any,\" replied Shari. Or perhaps my father once.
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