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“Well, he ain’t dead; he’s alive and bully, with a wad that bulges. I’m going to take you to him.” In his overcoat Mr. Zalhambra seemed to fill the doorway as Mrs. Newman greeted him. A moment’s private talk and the hostess understood the situation. From the drawing-room a ripple of childish laughter reached their ears. They all went off, a merry, noisy troop. And the disappearing sun was the last to say to Billy “Good-night.”.
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Conrad
“Anything else you can do better than a girl?” she jeered, good-naturedly. Billy beamed upon her. He adored her, as did every child in town. “Well, I’ll see,” replied Moses, but as he plunged his hand again into his pocket the cheerful jingle of coins stirred his masculine sense of ownership to profounder depths and he frowned and turned on his heel. He was not more inquisitive than other boys, yet the mystery, the many uncanny tales told of the old house, fired him with a desire to know its secrets. Long before he was born a murder had left its stain there. The owners, suspected but unconvicted, moved away; and for years the house stared vacantly at passers. The coming of the Italians had only increased its bad name. Late travellers on the lonely road declared that shadowy forms and flickering lights passed the lower windows and down into the cavernous basement; yet no sounds ever came from behind the barred doors..
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