Twelve years, then, have elapsed since the date of the occurrences detailed in the preceding division of this history. She was not squeamish—although the sight of the sergeant’s ominous preparations had severely tried her fortitude—but Kimble’s white face plagued her conscience. Send for Mr. The baby boy was delivered in a sea of black blood, born dead and blue, and strangled by plague. She was as pale as death, but she seemed to have lost the power of movement. Already the seed of a tender dream was stirring. He smiled inwardly. The office is a sight—not one sheet of paper on another; bills and receipts everywhere. "Now, step this way, Mr.
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