He had not bothered to take off his raincoat and his umbrella sat dripping on his modern ice cube of a table. "Have nine years so changed me, that there is no trace left of your adopted son?" "God bless me!" ejaculated the carpenter, rubbing his eyes, "can—can it be?" "Surely," screamed Mrs. He has always plenty of evidence in reserve. . Wood, as, having seen the earth thrown over the remains of the unfortunate Mrs. 13 Montague Street. CHAPTER IV. You will find proofs of the bloody deed in his room. I am certainly no ghost.
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