“Well,” he said, argumentatively, “it IS. ‘Damnation! Too late. Ain't he, Madam?'" "He is, indeed," replied the widow, fervently; "more—much more than that. It is you who took my name, not I yours. He said nothing. “He was a friend of your sister’s, was he not?” “I never heard her mention his name,” she answered. “I saw him stagger and sink down, and the pistol was smoking still in my hand.
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