The assassination, as you call it, was, obviously, the vengeance of a kinsman of the injured lady, who no doubt was of good family, upon her seducer. “I dare not,” she answered. He poured a pinch of tobacco into his palm and sniffed. "By George!" he exclaimed. " The woollen-draper made no answer, but hastily starting up, bolted the door. That will be a fine day—it will have to be, when first you set eyes on Italy.
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