It did not cheer or fortify him with false courage and recklessness; it simply enveloped him in a mist of unreality. “I murdered them, John. "Is she dead?" "No—no," answered Hogarth. He leaned forward, and looked into the eyes of the woman he loved, and it seemed to him that she sang back to him with a sudden note of something like passion breaking here and there through the gay mocking words which flowed with such effortless and seductive music from her lips.
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