In his muscular pudgy hand was a photograph, frayed at the corners, soiled from the contact of many hands: the portrait of a youth of eighteen. ‘We was of an age, you see, miss. The girl, with a little moan, crossed the room and threw open the window. " Good-natured fellows are always especial favourites with boys. ” She pointed to the envelope still resting upon the mantelpiece. The unfortunate woman was stretched upon the floor, with a bloody knife in her hand.
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