“But, forgive me, you are tired. I am a murderer. Everything was fresh and bright, from the kindly manners of the Frutigen cobbler, who hammered mountain nails into her boots, to the unfamiliar wild flowers that spangled the wayside. Steeples toppled, and towers reeled beneath its fury. Have you been away from Morningside Park?” “I’m not interrupting you?” “You are. “Don’t you have a wife? Where are your children?” She asked. Which are you—Valade or Charvill? Or, no, let me guess. Now you can understand why I have been obliged to——” “Yes, yes, I understand that,” Courtlaw interrupted. Are you sure you're not misinformed, Sir?" "I was in the Lodge at the time," replied the jailer. ’ A trifle discomposed at being caught examining his surroundings, Gerald was provoked into retort. .
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