I snatched it up, pointed it blindly at him, and fired. "Mother—dear mother! Once again, I beseech you to listen to me. This is part of a dream— some evil fancy. Some one had once, in his hearing, called him a prig. My Mom and Dad were always 184 at work. His hand fell lightly to her chest where her heart was 211 beating, almost tenderly. But if I escape, my gratitude—" "Pshaw!" interrupted Jonathan, scornfully.
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