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break loose any moment. He turned on his heel when the girl cried out, leaped up, and was on him before he knew it.

"Don't! Don't!" she cried. "Oh, Abner, don't go out there! It's murder, Abner! Dear Abner!"

She had her arms about his neck and suddenly began a vehement sobbing.

The teamster was shocked, amazed beyond all experience. The perfume of the girl, her soft slender body pressing passionately against him, so shocked and confused him that he could distinguish nothing clearly. She was a blur of bluish dress, of pale cornsilk hair, of perfume. As she sobbed he felt her bosom pressing in spasms against his own.

"Why, what's the matter, Nessie? Little girl! There! There! Don't cry, honey." As he lifted a hand to pat her cheek a tear splashed his fingers. This somehow renewed his sense of shock. "What is the matter, Nessie, honey?" he begged.

"You'll be a murderer, Abner!" she gasped. "It's awful! It's sinful, wicked! Don't you know it'll send your soul to—the bad place!"

The last phrase was a horrified aspirate. She was looking up at him with tears on her lashes, her pleading lips within three inches of his own. As the person of the girl gained upon Abner, the imminent drama at the lock-up receded from him. One urgency slowly faded from his mind and almost imperceptibly gave way to another.

She was so slight, a mere wisp in his arms, and unbelievably soft. Never before had his arms been about a woman, and now, under the spell of the girl, the topic they were debating so passionately wavered and grew uncertain in the growing wonder of her appeal. He collected his thoughts with an effort.

"But, Nessie," he objected, "it—it ain't murder if ever'-body does it; it's—it's—"

She broke into his definition passionately.

"But it is! You know it is, Abner! To kill a man! You—you wouldn't help kill a man!" She bent back her