Stanley took the letter and stood with it in his hand thoughtfully for a time. Was he, too, on the way to the beach? What a pity! All alone, and none to warn him of the abject wretchedness at the end of Drink. It was Sunday evening—a soft delicious evening, and, from the happy, cheerful look of the house, none would have dreamed of the dismal tragedy so lately acted within its walls. ” Annabel looked down. “A bad thing for me when that legacy came.
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