“The very question, my dear sister,” she said, “tells me that I have succeeded. You understand me, Charcoal. We must wash out those stains up stairs, and burn the cloth. Kneebone,—pray go!" implored Winifred. "You will never leave me," sobbed the poor woman, straining him to her breast. He stood up and she ushered him out of the small room. Through her door curtain she could see the light from the study lamp.
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