But a woman’s life is all chance. “Then either this man shot himself or some one else shot him immediately before your arrival—or rather if it was not himself the person who did it was in the room, say two minutes, before you arrived. He knew. Never was heard such a bawling as these unfortunate wights kept up. She was not squeamish—although the sight of the sergeant’s ominous preparations had severely tried her fortitude—but Kimble’s white face plagued her conscience. Her fingers passed over a cunningly wrought surface of wood, with just the correct amount of protrusion, the precise colours of dyed leather, and cleverly gilded surfaces and neatly painted lettering. Wood was heard without, angrily demanding admittance. He tugged at the overly large hooded sweatshirt, which she unzipped and let fall to the ground. ” “That’s horrible!” He gasped.
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