" "Nothing," echoed Wood furiously. "Wet your whistle before you start, Jack," said Kneebone, pouring out a glass of ale. But I must—I ought—” “I MUST talk about this. 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. Then she dropped the curtain and stepped back into the room.
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