He motioned the young man to the rear chair, because at that hour the youth appeared to be a quantity close to zero. She had a horrible glimpse of the once nice little old lady being also borne stationward, still faintly battling and very muddy—one lock of grayish hair straggling over her neck, her face scared, white, but triumphant. ‘Gérard!’ ‘Yes, it’s I,’ he said, and grinned. "I have killed you," cried Jack, endeavouring to staunch the effusion of blood from her breast.
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