The misty caravans of which she had dreamed were become actualities. “It is hateful—diabolical!” he exclaimed. Presently he resumed: “I believe I must be in love. Too late. To-morrow night —or rather to-night, for we are fast verging on another day—I propose to lure him out of the house by a stratagem which I am sure will prove infallible; and, then, what so easy as to knock him on the head. I've left mine on the spikes of the New Prison, and must borrow yours.
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