She could smell the sweet girl child he had buried in the garage in autumn, 1 even under the frozen ground. He allowed his voice to drip with sympathy. "If this document is correct," continued Wood, "and I am persuaded it is so,— you are as unfortunate as wicked. ” Miss Stanley turned to her. She saw it, and checked without thinking. The easel and palette having been packed up, and the canvass carefully removed by Austin, the party took leave of the prisoner, who was so much abstracted that he scarcely noticed their departure. ‘But I have told you.
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