Rifle, for instance.
My poor wife!
D
To-day is the anniversary of my beloved. She was shot by one two-legged barbarian.
I appealed to the police. American police are rotten, through and through. The murderer bribed them, I fancy.
I found my wife, but she was only a skin.
How often did I tell her that she was risking too much in sporting around! But she didn’t mind me, insisting that sight-seeing was a better education.
I carried her skin into my home.
I cleansed it, and altered its form a trifle, because it was a lady’s. I am still keeping it for church-wear.
I feel dreadful, thinking of her.