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"I have only been certain of these things since our last interview. I lied to you then because Dido said if I told the truth she would accuse my mother of the murder." "Well, I didn't want you to expect too much," she said, with a gentle impatience. "If I'd praised it too much, you'd have been disappointed with the thing itself." "Then you know more than I do," retorted Sarby. "I told Mrs. Dallas that I loved Isabella and she said that nothing would give her greater pleasure than to see us married.".

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"That was generous of him. But why?" Miss Dallas deposed that she had been engaged to deceased. Prisoner wished to marry her, and was jealous of the late Mr. Alymer. Once or twice he had threatened him. The negress, Dido, was accustomed to hypnotize Mrs. Dallas for nervous headaches. While under the influence of hypnotism Mrs. Dallas would act according to the dictates of Dido. On the night that the devil-stick was stolen from the house of Major Jen, Mrs. Dallas had been hypnotized by Dido. Witness had followed her, and had seen the theft of the stick. Afterward Mrs. Dallas had delivered it into the hands of Dido. Witness never saw the devil-stick again. She had seen Mr. Alymer on the night he was murdered, as he had called to see her. Witness had parted with him at the gates, and had seen him go down the road toward "Ashantee." It was the last time witness saw him. It was well known to witness that Dido was under the influence of Dr. Etwald, on account of the latter possessing the Voodoo stone charm. Dido had manufactured the fresh poison of the devil-stick as a panacea for nervous headache, from which witness suffered. So far as witness knew, deceased was in the best of spirits at the time of his death, and had no intention of putting an end to his life. Witness could swear that prisoner was a bitter and jealous enemy of deceased. As she went out of the gate the postman came in, and at the sight of another letter my heart slunk off into my slippers, and my brain seemed about to back up in a corner and refuse to work. In a flash it came to me that men oughtn't to write letters to women very much—they really don't plough deep enough, they just irritate the top soil. I took this missive from Alfred, counted all the fifteen pages, put it out of sight under a book, looked out of the window and saw Mr. Johnson shooed off down the street by Mrs. Johnson; saw the doctor's car go chugging hurriedly in the garage, and then my spirit turned itself to the wall and refused to be comforted. I tried my best, but failed to respond to my own remonstrances with myself, and tears were slowly gathering in a cloud of gloom when a blue gingham, romper-clad sunbeam burst into the room. I sat down at the long table by the window and slowly prepared to enjoy myself. I cut off four slices and buttered them to an equal thickness, and then more slowly put a long silver spoon into the jam. I even paused to admire in Jane's mirror over the table the effect of the cascade of lace that fell across my arm and lost itself in the blue shimmer of Madame Rene's masterpiece of a negligée, then deep down I buried the spoon in the purple sweetness. I had just lifted it high in the air when out of the lilac-scented dark of the garden came a laugh..