"It's the boy's death-warrant," observed Jonathan, with a sinister smile. 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. He walked through the misty September night to his rooms. Michelle looked at Lucy knowingly. “Take my advice,” he said hoarsely. An admirable alternative presented itself and she sighed, spreading her hands. At this gate two paths meet.
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