Yet the thing hidden within her called and called. His red hair marked him, cut short into a round shape that had the texture of a Brillo pad. His course had been observed by the watchman, who directed Wild which way to take. 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. Presently he heard her voice. He had not taken many steps when he perceived Quilt Arnold in the upper gallery, with a lamp in his hand. “Don’t come nearer!” she said.
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