He would know the truth then once and for all. One Friday afternoon, in this pleasant month, it chanced that Mr. The first of these, whom he addressed as Mr. Ennison, who had been standing with his back to the window, came suddenly a little further into the room. And yet that could not be: it was a confession only in the event of his death. But he was destined to have every tide of feeling awakened—every wound opened. He obeyed, letting the garment fall to the floor. It was a large room, about twenty feet long and fifteen broad, and had an arched stone roof.
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