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. . Besides, he was a Yale man. What was it she had expected? Surely her moods were getting a little out of hand. “I have spoken too many truths to-night. The Storm VII. . You know I call that positively wicked.
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