Then the incredible happened. The knife is at my breast. But if I were dying of thirst, in a desert, I would not accept a cup of water at her hands. But I tell you in return, I shall take no pains to hide myself. They were followed by Jonathan, who carried a stout stick under his arm, and planted himself near the stone. It was Sunday evening—a soft delicious evening, and, from the happy, cheerful look of the house, none would have dreamed of the dismal tragedy so lately acted within its walls. There was no keeping Sheila from the truth, and it was better that anyone who lived under her roof knew it.
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