But she was not there. ‘That’s better. ’ Le Petit Journal said that the man was dead. ” Lucy snickered. 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. She never grew angry for anything her husband did: such anger as came to her was directed against the lazy, incompetent servant who was always snooping about in the inner temple—Spurlock's study. If she could have held it in, perhaps the Virgin Mary would have sent her a miracle as reward for her strength.
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