A curious silence ensued. Every man in her life had betrayed her one way or another. Meanwhile, after a consultation between Mr. "The pocket-book you prigged contained the letters I wanted. 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. The more she disentangled the lines of her situation the deeper grew her self-disgust.
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