To her mind, recalling the picture of him the night before, there had been something tragic in the grim silent manner of his tippling. " "Why not?" "I am a thief, a hunted man. “Yes. The thought passed through his mind even as he started to cross the terrace at a jogtrot, moving to head her off. Apparently he had projected beyond his table some hypnotic thought, for it had held him all through the dining hour. All this while he was arranging the medicines on the stand and jotting down his instructions on a chart sheet. It's mighty lonesome down there for a man bred to cities.
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