” He rowed a stroke and watched the swirl of water from his oar broaden and die away. “Will he live?” The doctor shook his head. 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. To stumble upon the trail through the agency of a bottle of whisky! Drank queer; so his bottle had rendered him conspicuous. “I will believe you.
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