He knew me not, though I called him by name. In
terrible agony he writhed his head off my breast. His hand clutched at
the hole in his breast, closing on my handkerchief. And so he died.
"Monsieur, strange it may seem, but I do assure you that I became calm
again when he was dead. I rose to my feet and looked round me in the
room. On the floor near him I saw a revolver. I picked it up and hid it
in my bag. The tube of it was warm. Then I sat down in a chair and
thought what I must do. The police must not know I was there. They must
not know he was my lover. I thought of my letters that I wrote to him. He
had them hidden in a little drawer at the back of his desk--a secret
drawer. Often had he showed me my letters there, and once he had showed
me where to find the spring that opened the drawer. So I searched for the
spring and I found it. The drawer opened and there were my letters tied
together. I took them all and hid them in my bag, and then I closed the
hiding place. There remained but the handkerchief which my lover held in
his hand. I tried to get it out, but I could not. In my hurry I dragged
it out--it came away then, but left a little bit in his hand.
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