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 know what I mean," said the trader, gravely. "Poor Jack!" cried Winifred, burying her face in her lover's bosom. ’ ‘When you begin to tell the truth,’ Gerald told her severely, ‘I shall be happy to believe you. 1. "You are an angel," she cried, with a look beaming with delight.
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