‘No more, Saling, no more,’ said Mrs Sindlesham in accents of exhaustion. “I murdered them, John. ” “You know,” he said with some hesitation, “that your sister is singing. She did not see the metal pole swing toward the back of her skull, nor did she feel her own blood spoiling her light hair after the dull crack of metal broke her flesh. Eggs were procured for her, and she sat out the subsequent emotions and eloquence with the dignity becoming an injured lady of good family. God knows how you did it.
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