He seemed to deliberate. He stalked her, he stared at her, he craved her, he sidled slinking and propitiatory and yet relentlessly toward her, until at last she awoke from the suffocating nightmare nearness of his approach, and lay awake in fear and horror listening to the unaccustomed sounds of the hotel. “Very well,” he said, “I will go. You can live just about how you like. One thing—he could be thankful for that—the peak of his misfortunes had been reached; the world might come to an end now and not matter in the least. I guess those books are okay because they are fiction. 1. “What?” He replied. "Don't go, I beg of you!" she implored. I was standing near Jack at that awful moment, and beheld the look Wild fixed on him. She is more dear to me than anything else.
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