I don't know; I really don't know," she found herself repeating. It seemed to show a want of affection, to be a deliberate and unmerited disregard, to justify the reprisal of being hurt. And I want you for myself—for my wife. "You have both," replied Wood, fervently. "Nobody has so much cause for complaint as me," growled Austin. She was a schizophrenic, got locked up later in some sort of state mental ward. There was a Greyhound bus that she was overdue to ride.
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