It was Sunday evening—a soft delicious evening, and, from the happy, cheerful look of the house, none would have dreamed of the dismal tragedy so lately acted within its walls. She found the silence comforting, as old people often do. He did not spend more time with her. She slipped out the window, jumping to the ground from the second story with very little sound. “Never—but, by Jove, you had a narrow escape,” Ennison exclaimed. "My schemes have succeeded tolerably well hitherto. I have a hundred of them—mixed blood—on my island, and they are always rooking me.
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