" "You cannot help yourself, Sir Rowland," replied Jonathan, contemptuously. She spoke with an entirely false note of cheerful offhandedness. . The evening breeze came; the bamboo shades on the veranda clicked and rasped; the loose edges of the manuscript curled. 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. Vorsack sauntered into the room, sporting her usual toothy thin254 lipped grin. Mrs.
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