“How would you know?” Michelle’s interest was piqued. With something near to horror they found themselves thus confronted. You’ve got me. The slack cloth of her habit caught on a curlicue in the carved back of the pew in front, pulling her suddenly about. Standing on tiptoe, on a joint-stool, placed upon the bench, with his back to the door, and a clasp-knife in his hand, this youngster, instead of executing his appointed task, was occupied in carving his name upon a beam, overhead.
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