The evening breeze came; the bamboo shades on the veranda clicked and rasped; the loose edges of the manuscript curled. " "Palliate them as you may," replied the widow, gravely, "they were faults; and as such, cannot be repaired by a greater wrong. There was the same airy grace of movement, the same deep brown hair and alabaster skin. “I tell you it was a lie!” he shouted wildly.
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