Only I do not care to write about anything else. ‘I’ll get the key,’ said Roding, turning abruptly. ‘Very wise,’ he commented, slightly relaxing his arm. Why shouldn’t we be martyrs? There’s nothing else for most of us, anyhow. He removed his cigarette from his lips and waved it gently in the air. His voice had broken. Somehow or other his reputation as a hardened and unassailable bachelor had won for him during the last few years a comparative immunity from attentions on the part of those women with whom he had been brought into contact. The noose was at its throat when I called for help. “Well, hello there. Taber is very ill. She was afraid people would follow her, she was afraid of the dark, open doorways she passed, and afraid of the blazes of light; she was afraid to be alone, and she knew not what it was she feared. ” She laughed.
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