I cut off her limbs so that she would not escape. On the envelope was written— Sydney Courtlaw, Esq. The freezing water lapped around her ankles as she ran along its edge, marveling at the thousands of tiny white spiral shells the tide had brought in. Immediately beneath her lay Willesden,—the most charming and secluded village in the neighbourhood of the metropolis—with its scattered farm-houses, its noble granges, and its old grey church-tower just peeping above a grove of rook-haunted trees. Spurlock knew that somewhere along the way he would write a story worth while. He had certain orders from which on no account was he to deviate.
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