An old man with a bent back who limped in, slow and stiff, leaning heavily on a cane. Shari’s married and got two kids on her, a boy and a girl, twins, no less. Even to my own brother—if I had one—I could not tell everything, and you, although you are so kind, you are almost a stranger, aren’t you?” “No, no!” he protested. 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.
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