"At length, I have my wish," continued Mrs. “You heard no pistol-shot?” “None. ‘What are you, a nincompoop? She was Nicholas’s wife, of course. He first met her when he had caught her smoking behind the Joliet LaudrO-Matic one cool overcast day in late August. The assassination, as you call it, was, obviously, the vengeance of a kinsman of the injured lady, who no doubt was of good family, upon her seducer. It came again.
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