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Sheppard. "Eh-day! what's this?" cried Wood, looking up from beneath his spectacles. So far as the eye could reach, the white level road, with its fringe of elm-trees, was empty. The funeral procession had now approached the grave, around which many of the congregation, who were deeply interested by the sad ceremonial, had gathered. Jack tried it, and found it locked. “The man who was found dead in your sister’s room was named Hill?” “It is the man,” she answered. Do you promise to do this?" "Solemnly," rejoined the carpenter. There is a place—This isn’t the place. He looked at his port wine as though that tawny ruby contained the solution of the matter.
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