The flowers upon the mantel-shelf were withered and drooping—she had gathered them. "Help!—murder!—thieves!" screamed Mrs. “My husband!” she laughed a little derisively. It’s true. " "What?" he barked. ” Her mind went off to Capes. The simile started a laugh in his throat. The air was sharp and bracing, and the leaves which had taken their autumnal tints were falling from the trees. People think it is, but they are wrong. Then it was the woman herself who was changed.
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