Section 3. Beneath these prints, a cluster of hobnails, driven into the wall, formed certain letters, which, if properly deciphered, produced the words, "Paul Groves, cobler;" and under the name, traced in charcoal, appeared the following record of the poor fellow's fate, "Hung himsel in this rum for luv off licker;" accompanied by a graphic sketch of the unhappy suicide dangling from a beam. At ninethirty he climbed into the chair and signified to Ah Cum that he was ready. Whatever you need to do, it is your business. But he didn’t marry her. The room was dark and dusty. You would be alarmed of how sulphurous it is, how sickeningly sweet. I don’t love you.
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