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“All’s well that ends well,” he said; “and the less one says about things the better. "Your sister is dead," said he, in a deep whisper. Nice lady. When the bell rang, she lagged behind as was her habit. "Dawn Pearl!… come here!" She moved to the side of the bed. 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.

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