Of you—an angel with one wing. I’d ruin the things if I so much as touched one. ‘But my poor Jacques is wounded and—’ ‘All taken care of,’ interrupted Hilary. To divide the agony into two spheres so that one would mitigate the other. He uttered one word over and over, monotonously: "Fool! … Fool!" But invariably the touch of Ruth's hand quieted him, and his head would cease to roll from side to side. " "Fool!" cried Wild, taking up the body, "what are you afraid of? After all," he added, pausing, "he may be of more use to me alive than dead.
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