"Then, the story of his death was false. ” He looked at her thoughtfully. For a long time to come that would naturally be the theme of any story he undertook to write. She speedily reached her own abode,—a little cottage, standing in the outskirts of the village. She was correct, and when I went directly to the street she had named, there you were, walking into the Butcher Shop. " "What proof have you that I am?"—was the return bolt. He called to the other attendant, who held the torch. .
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