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I should as soon think of trusting a woman. Beneath these prints, a cluster of hobnails, driven into the wall, formed certain letters, which, if properly deciphered, produced the words, "Paul Groves, cobler;" and under the name, traced in charcoal, appeared the following record of the poor fellow's fate, "Hung himsel in this rum for luv off licker;" accompanied by a graphic sketch of the unhappy suicide dangling from a beam. Each arm of the blouse had the faintest of rings around the elbow, a stain that looked familiar. It seems to me just talk; it seems to me like the fancy of a dream. He wanted to know what the joke against him was—if any. ‘My dear boy, your loyalty is misplaced. Your family has not sullied itself by dabbling in it, at least not 173 from what I know, so now is not the time to begin.
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