His red hair marked him, cut short into a round shape that had the texture of a Brillo pad. Honestly, I never did. " "Robbed him!" screamed the widow. ” “But I AM anxious,” said Mr. I don’t care what else there is in the world. This—’ waving an imperious hand in a sweeping arc about the library ‘—is my house. This was the body of a man, apparently lifeless, and stretched upon a mattress, with his head bound up in a linen cloth, through which the blood had oosed. "Impossible!" exclaimed the widow, wildly. CHAPTER IV.
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