" "To-morrow will be too late," replied the widow, in a hollow voice, "I feel it will. There was an air of repressed gaiety in her actions: the sense of freedom had returned; her heart was empty again. Cocking the gun. The evening breeze came; the bamboo shades on the veranda clicked and rasped; the loose edges of the manuscript curled. " "Why, my love," rejoined her husband, "appearances, you must allow, were a little against you.
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