Of all the amazing coincidences. 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. " "Why, my love," rejoined her husband, "appearances, you must allow, were a little against you. “You are mine, Annabel, and nothing shall ever make me give you up. But, like all your overbearing sex, you must have your own way. “Could you play ‘Fiddler on the Roof’?” father Thomas pleaded.
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