Yet the smoke was curling upwards in a faint innocent-looking cloud to the ceiling. ” Chapter XIX “THIS IS NOT THE END” “I said some afternoon,” she remarked, throwing open her warm coat, and taking off her gloves, “but I certainly did not mean to-day. But it strikes me there's a nigger in the woodpile somewhere, as you Yankees say. "The door!—the door!—death!" he added, as he tried the handle, "it is locked—and I am unarmed.
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