They drove up into Paris in an open fiacre with a soft cool wind blowing in their faces, hand in hand beneath the rug. At this moment, Blueskin appeared with the lamp, and revealed a horrible spectacle,—the floor deluged with blood,—various articles of furniture upset,—papers scattered about,—the murdered man's cloak, trampled upon, and smeared with gore,—his hat, crushed and similarly stained,—his sword,—the ensanguined cloth,—with several other ghastly evidences of the slaughterous deed. “May I be allowed to say,” he declared, “that I came here with the same intention. ’ ‘A French ghost?’ ‘Well, it ain’t a rat this time, Major, I can promise you that,’ Pottiswick had rejoined, his tone affronted. ” This made her even angrier, so she stopped speaking to him for a week.
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