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148
THE TURN OF THE SCREW
“I tell the bailiff. He writes.”
“And should you like him to write our story?”
My question had a sarcastic force that I had not fully intended, and it made her, after a moment, inconsequently break down. The tears were again in her eyes. “Ah, Miss, you write!”
“Well—tonight,” I at last answered; and on this we separated.
