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CHAPTER XXVII. ” She said. Wood, carving for his friends, and pledging the carpenter, he had his hands full. "Take this key to Baptist Kettleby. But he died when he was a child—long ago—long ago—long ago. A simple wooden monument was placed over the grave, but without any name or date. He asked her whether she understood what she was saying, and went on to say still more precisely that she should never touch a penny of his money until she came home again—not one penny. For a while he threatened her. She’s naïve, and yet uncannily shrewd at times, and you daren’t rely on anything she says. “You could tell me but you’d have to kill me?” He asked with a sardonic grin on his face. She could not go to him with a preachment against strong drink; she knew from experience that such a plan would be wasted effort. ” He fell back in his chair with an expression of tremendous desolation. Her shoulders were gripped hard and a familiar voice spoke.
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