***** Spurlock possessed that extraordinary condition of the mind which is called New England conscience. But what did the occupant of the box care? The laugh was always with the dead: they were out of the muddle. His hand fell lightly to her chest where her heart was 211 beating, almost tenderly. The birds were singing blithely amid the trees,—the lowing of the cows resounded from the yard,—a delicious perfume from the garden was wafted through the open window,—at a distance, the church-bells of Willesden were heard tolling for evening service. Wood, reproachfully, as they returned to the parlour. I am a murderer. Was it a week ago? No, perhaps more. ‘You do not say, “I am a gentleman born. Her hair and voice and figure are as yours used to be.
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