The night was clear and moonlit, dazzling with even light blue shadows that shone into manicured lawns and pristine gardens. "Whose grave is this?" he inquired of a man who was standing near it. Speedily recovering himself, however, he rejoined, with forced calmness, "You are mistaken, Sir. He suspected a trap. There’s that old gentleman at the end of the table—Bullding his name is. Your reputation for hospitality would remain under a cloud though, for tea was distinctly mentioned. To many in that crowded solitude it came as an extraordinary relief. Ah!" he exclaimed, as his eye fell upon a small knob in the wall, "there's the spring!" He touched it, and the door flew open. Don’t imagine that. He was shifting to reach his own weapon, which had fallen in between the pews at the back. His high brow was what caused all the ladies in town to covet him, it radiated intelligence but also something more primal.
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