"Ah!" cried Wild, laying down his pen and looking up with a smile of satisfaction. All my life I've had to fight human wolves to hold what I have. She was aware of him—a silk-hatted, shiny-black figure on the opposite side of the Avenue; and then, abruptly and startlingly, he crossed the road and saluted and spoke to her. ‘How could I know that it is you?’ She peered at him in the darkness. She herself, and one other there, recognized the interposition of something akin to tragedy.
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