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“What’s the matter? What ye cryin’ fer?” It was Nils the fisherman who spoke and whose coming over the soft grass Johnny had not noticed. Oh, Bob, Bob! And he, who was heir of Kingthorpe, had abused the little horse! What would Uncle Isaac say if he knew? And now he could never ride horseback any more! Oh—oh—oh! He must go home and tell Mother. It was dreadful to do it, but he must, he must. "Grandmother, what large teeth you have!".

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“No. What Father and Mother tell you about right and wrong is not too much for you to remember.” That night, in accordance with his plan to try to get as much as he could of the general atmosphere of the situation, Bob decided to go down to the lower camp. On the highest ground were the mechanics’ houses, and from them, sloping to the river bank, were the bunk houses and shacks of the Mexican laborers. At one side, a little apart, was the camp of the Indians who, aside from the Mexicans, were practically the only laborers to be had in that section of the country. Of course, they were far less in number than the Mexicans. The street on which the motion picture theatre and the stores were located, was well lighted by the power plant and had been dubbed “Broadway.” At last he reached the turning point. Peter Prytz, who kept the time there, laughed uproariously. He mused upon this scheme, and the more he accustomed his mind to contemplate it, the less scrupulous he became. The crime from which he would formerly have shrunk, he now surveyed with a steady eye. The fury of his passions, unaccustomed to resistance, uniting with the force of what ambition termed necessity—urged him to the deed, and he determined upon the murder of his wife. The means of effecting his purpose were easy and various; but as he was not yet so entirely hardened as to be able to view her dying pangs, and embrue his own hands in her blood, he chose to dispatch her by means of poison, which he resolved to mingle in her food..