Save us!" he cried, as his glance accidentally alighted on the drawing, which Winifred had dropped in her agitation. I have weird skin. "One of us has got to die," he panted. "A thousand pounds," he observed, gloomily, "is a heavy price to pay for doubtful secrecy, when certain silence might be so cheaply procured. That was the only sound he heard. I was sorry for what I did afterwards; for, I don't know why, but, poor, lady! with her pale face, and black eyes, she reminded me of my mother.
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