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But shurely I'd know that vice," he added, turning his lantern towards the janizary. Spurlock slept on. There she would wander about in the kindly darkness. Gazing into each other's eyes with new-found rapture, neither observed the sudden appearance in the doorway of an elderly woman in travel-stained linen. After several vain attempts to burst it open, he resolved, as a last alternative, to break through the wall in the part nearest to the lock. It was as much accident as anything, but she had killed him. The joy of being loved thrilled her as nothing before had ever done, a curious abstract joy which had nothing in it at that moment of regret or even pity.
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