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Just as they reached the eastern outlet of the churchyard— where the tall elms cast a pleasant shade over the rustic graves—a momentary stoppage took place. ‘Well said, my dear. "And now," he continued, sternly, "was it your master who has just ridden by?" "No," answered Quilt, sullenly. I am very good at guessing names. As he stood upon the bridge, he held down the light, and looked into the profound abyss.
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