There was more shouting. "Had I not been the guilty wretch I am," he cried, bursting into an agony of tears, "she would never have died thus. “Take my advice,” he said hoarsely. What you said wanted saying. The air was sweet with the smoky perfume of myrrh, hazy and dense with incense. Then her white teeth gleamed, and her excuse for remaining any longer before that little marble table was gone. They are blinded to all fine and subtle things —they look at life with bloodshot eyes and dilated nostrils.
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