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. She breathed deeply of the starch of his shirt. “Really, I do not know why I should have doubted it. Wood, popping her head through the window. Loving was better than that. It still failed in something. [Illustration: Distinctive Pictures Photoplay.
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