“You won’t give me away, Anna. "You shall see him to-morrow. Like carpenter, like chips. From the first I could see that neither believed my story. Burn your palette and your easel. Returning to the churchyard, he walked round it; and on the western side, near a small yew-tree discovered a new-made grave. He was draining a glass, and as he set it down he shuddered.
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