” “I am your friend,” he said slowly, “whatever you may have to tell me. "All life is a muddle, and we are all muddlers, more or less. “Solitary walks?” “That’s the point of them. A man's laced hat,—whether adopted from the caprice of the moment, or habitually worn, we are unable to state,—cocked knowingly on her head, harmonized with her masculine appearance. That's worth something to me; for I don't mind paying for revenge. org. His eyes were set too close together. "A thousand pounds," he observed, gloomily, "is a heavy price to pay for doubtful secrecy, when certain silence might be so cheaply procured.
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