“It is hateful—diabolical!” he exclaimed. ” There was a long silence. Was it ruined?’ ‘But yes, it was entirely ruined. “John. I have it on my conscience that I offended you—” “Offended me when?” “I’ve been haunted by the memory of you. Anyhow, there it is: YOU ARE NOT GOING THERE. The ink, contained in a grimy bottle unearthed in the outhouse, was old, and made blotches as soon as it touched the paper. He growled in his throat and, thrusting his coat open, revealed his own buckled sword-belt.
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