Both McCloskeys disappeared on the same night, without a single trace. “Hey,” he said, his eyes slowly adjusting to the soft blackness. Raven locks fell to her shoulders from under the feathered beaver hat, and curled away down her back. Which is also puzzling. I fancy that this is a little more than playing at Bohemianism. She glanced towards her sister, and curiously enough found in her face some faint reflection of her own rather sombre mirth. But you,” he continued, moving imperceptibility a little nearer to her, “you are mine.
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