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But it strikes me there's a nigger in the woodpile somewhere, as you Yankees say. " Mr. She walked through the office to the door, aimlessly. Why? What is she to you?” “I was there by accident,” Ennison answered. A pity you did not think to tell me that part of the tale at the outset. “Don’t tell anyone I told you this. ” “But does it correspond with the facts of the case? You know, Mr. She had, by the magic of recollection, set the picture of the typhoon between herself and her table companions: the terrible rollers thundering on the white shore, the deafening bellow of the wind, the bending and snapping palms, the thatches of the native huts scattering inland, the blur of sand dust, and those two outcasts defying the elements. Puffy blue curtains dressed every oakstained window. She smiled at the sight of him, and thereat his radiation increased. Something insisted that those two were mysteriously linked—that the woman knew the man was there. " "Don't be angry with me, Sir," cried the widow, sobbing bitterly, "pray don't. She attacked me with a carving-knife, and, when I had disarmed her, the jade bit off a couple of fingers from my left hand. He was pretty successful in Manchester,—a town which may be said to have been the head-quarters of the disaffected.
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