"The door!—the door!—death!" he added, as he tried the handle, "it is locked—and I am unarmed. What a girl of sixteen cares for is hair and a high color and moonlight and a tenor voice. She has been a dear. " But as no answer was returned to the summons, though it was again, and more peremptorily, repeated, Baptist seized a mallet from a bystander and burst open the door. Such a beautiful boy he is, but his intelligence is marginal. A sinister thought edged in. Wood. It was denied him, for as he closed his eyes—though but for an instant—the whole scene of his former visit to the place rose before him. Through all he said ran one quality that pleased her—the quality of a man who feels that things can be done, that one need not wait for the world to push one before one moved. Suffer me to precede you. But oh, how weary I am! I know.
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