Now the baby’s bright May eyes peered up at her intently. She pointed suddenly at the portrait. Both McCloskeys disappeared on the same night, without a single trace. Her hair was of the darkest brown, and finest texture; and, when unloosed, hung down to her heels. If you'd read your husband's dying speech, you'd know that he laid his death at Jonathan's door,—and with reason too, as I can testify.
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