“My sister,” she murmured, “is so independent. You are greatly altered. ‘But I have told you. All the village was assembled in the churchyard. His own peculiar genius—a miracle key to the hidden things in men's souls—had given him this immediate and astonishing illumination. There was the same airy grace of movement, the same deep brown hair and alabaster skin. I've seen many a clever cracksman, but never one like him. There's a letter for the head turnkey, Mr.
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