It was a perfect windless spring day, a Sunday. His shirt also was unbuttoned, and disclosed a neck like that of an ox, and a chest which might have served as a model for a Hercules. She tried to compose her thoughts, to think of the last six months, to steep herself in the calm beauty of the surroundings. The pistol was his own, it is true, but it was one which was taken from him when he forced his way in upon me before.
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