So, one day, because God was wroth, her mother ran away with a blackguard, and died in the gutter, miserably. Conceiving himself called upon, as the intimate friend of the deceased, to pay this last tribute of respect to her memory, he appeared as one of the chief mourners. It is no more a murder, but a duel, you understand. ’ Upon which, she darted through the library door, galvanising both the sergeant and his two militiamen into action.
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