He had scarcely completed his toilet, when he was startled by a noise at the door, and heard his own name pronounced in no friendly accents. She smiled. The locket contained the face of her mother—all the family album she had. The stretch of red dirt disappeared into a stretch of trees like Van Gogh’s painting. ‘That is good,’ she said with satisfaction, ‘for I was compelled on Saturday to abandon the chase.
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