I believe I'd want to kill a man who did
that."
I didn't laugh at him. I was the man who was in a fair way to get
killed for "doing that," and I thought laughter would be a little bit
misplaced; but I am not a coward, and I didn't flinch. I confessed.
I tried to ease his mind by telling him what I had attempted to do.
"It was a mistake," he said, shortly, when I had finished. "And you
must promise me one thing," he added, very seriously.
"I'll promise anything," I said, meekly.
"Don't ever try anything of the sort again," he went on, gravely.
"If you had succeeded in writing that story, and subjected her to all
that horror, I should never have spoken to you again. As it is, I
realize that what you did was out of the kindness of your heart,
prompted by a desire to be of service to me, and I'm just as much
obliged as I can be, only I don't want any assistance."
"Until you ask me to, Stuart," I replied, "I'll never write another
line about her; but you'd better keep very mum about her yourself, or
get her copyrighted.
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