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"I don't care two straws about that," said David, coldly. "I have not spoken to her yet, but all the same I intend her to become my wife. I give you fair warning, Maurice, that you are not to poach upon my preserves." "Read it for yourselves," she smiled, tossing the sheet across the table. "My time's about up. It's criticism morning in the portrait class, and I want to get a lot more done before Mr. Benton comes." "Comedy!" echoed Mrs. Dallas, in scorn. "You mean tragedy!".

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"She was fearfully angry and warned me that if I said a word about the theft of the devil-stick I would be in danger of hanging my own mother." "Ah," said Isabella, clasping her hands, "I am sure that it was that terrible man who made David kill Maurice. Oh, if I had only met Maurice on that night, I might have prevented the quarrel." "No; I'll walk." He was half-clothed, pale as the white dress of Isabella Dallas, and evidently, from the wild look in his eyes and the quivering of his nether lip, badly scared. Stopping short a few paces from the door, he held up the lamp which he carried, to survey the astonishing scene before him. The sight of Jen tongue-tied and immovable, of Isabella weeping on her knees by the bedside, of the bed itself vacant of its dead occupant--all these things were calculated to shock even stronger nerves than those of David Sarby. Nevertheless, after a pause of sheer astonishment, he managed to stammer out a question:.