She repeated this breathlessly. Spurlock, filled with self-mockery, sat in a chair on the west veranda. 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. " "Well, take a chair," rejoined Kneebone. Are you quite shure you haven't another alyas, Masther Thames Ditton?" "Darrell, I tell you.
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