"May I ask whether you made any further inquiries into the mysterious affair about which we were speaking just now?" observed Jackson, turning to the carpenter. Her eyes were perhaps a little brighter than usual, the firelight played about her hair, there seemed to him to be a sudden softening of the straight firm mouth. The brown house, almost exactly the same as the Beck’s, turned black as pitch in the gloom. “They have no plans for us. You couldn’t help it.
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