’ ‘And me,’ came the guttural response, ‘I will certainly murder you the very next time I am compelled to see your face. 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. You mustn’t go clawing after a man that doesn’t belong to you—that isn’t even interested in you. No! That was impossible. “Never. The windows were small, and strongly grated, looking, in front, on Kendrick Yard, and, at the back, upon the spacious burial-ground of Saint Giles's Church. He carried a cane and a silk hat with a mourning-band in one gray-gloved hand; his frock-coat and trousers were admirable; his handsome face, his black mustache, his prominent brow conveyed an eager solicitude.
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