"Mur—der!" roared Wood, struggling to free himself from his assailant, by whom he was half strangled. He felt like a boy again, the taste for adventures was keen upon his palate, the whole undiscovered world of rhythmical things, of love and poetry and passion seemed again to him a real and actual place, and he himself an adventurer upon the threshold. She put down the sketch-books and apparatus she had brought with her, pulled out her stool, and sat down. His salary was a few paltry hundreds a year.
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