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‘I am nine-and-twenty,’ he answered. “I shot him. "Harkye, Sir," rejoined Darrell; "one word before I move. A hush descended across the audience as instruments tuned, creating small ladders of fifths that collapsed abruptly, snatches of solos that disappeared and reappeared like gags in a house of mirrors. “What did it matter?” she cried. And how could I come home—when he locks me in rooms and all that?” “I do wish this wasn’t going on,” said Miss Stanley, after a pause. "He's dead," exclaimed Austin.
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