After rifling the room of everything portable, including some of Mrs. ” Like most men who lie but seldom, he lied well. The floor was thickly strewn with sawdust and shavings; and across the room ran a long and wide bench, furnished at one end with a powerful vice; next to which three nails driven into the boards served, it would appear from the lump of unconsumed tallow left in their custody, as a substitute for a candlestick. From the opposite corner under the trees a man with his hat slouched over his eyes stood and glowered at them. It was the crowned queen of mountains in her robes of shining white. Her head was downcast as she studied the museum-like exhibits of various dusts on the resilient tile flooring. 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. They don’t know who did it, actually. It was clear by the look on her face that she decided to leave the house immediately. He continued thoughtfully.
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