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They may love us, but they love us as the slave loves his captor, not as equals. Did you really doubt if I knew?” “No. ” “And no one else—has a key?” “I believe,” she said, “that that man must have one. He lived on the seventh floor behind a winding set of hallways that towered over her in their grayness. It was Sunday evening—a soft delicious evening, and, from the happy, cheerful look of the house, none would have dreamed of the dismal tragedy so lately acted within its walls.
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