It was Sunday evening—a soft delicious evening, and, from the happy, cheerful look of the house, none would have dreamed of the dismal tragedy so lately acted within its walls. " "Accident or not," rejoined Sheppard; "you're no longer pall of mine. “You see, I will take your arm. "The door!—the door!—death!" he added, as he tried the handle, "it is locked—and I am unarmed. Were such a thing to happen again, I'd never let Mr. As he hesitated, unable to make up his mind what to do for the best, a heavy rumbling on the cobbles penetrated his absorption. ‘Certainly I have them with me.
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