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Farnol, Jeffery, 1878-1952

"The Definite Object A Romance of New York"


"Poor old Spike!" said Ravenslee, and his tone was as gentle as his
touch.
"But--but, Geoff," stammered the boy. "I--oh, don't you see? I meant
to--kill you?"
"Yes, I understand; you thought I deserved it--why?"
"Oh, I was crazy, I guess! Bud told me lies--an' I believed him--lies
about you an' Hermy--he said--you'd make Hermy go--the same road--little
Maggie Finlay went--so I came t' kill you--"
"Spike, if you believed that, if you really believed that, I don't blame
you for trying a shot--"
"But I didn't--I couldn't! When I saw you sittin' there so unsuspectin',
I just couldn't do it--I tried to, but I couldn't. An' somehow I dropped
th' gun, an' then I heard a shot, an' when I looked up I saw you throw
out your arms an' fall--my God, I'll never forget that! Then I saw Bud
starin' down at you an' th' pistol smokin' in his hand. I meant t' do it
but I couldn't, so Bud did it himself. I'm as bad as him, I reckon, but
it was Bud shot you--Soapy saw him an' knows it was Bud--ask Soapy. An'
now I've told you all; I guess I ain't fit t' stay here any longer.


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