"His wife is still living," returned Kneebone, drily. He moaned. There were too many kills, too many unsolved files in too many cabinets. It was time to leave America. She breathed deeply, and he breathed sympathetically. Such was the effect produced upon the passengers by his good looks and manly deportment, that few—especially of the gentler and more susceptible sex—failed to turn round and bestow a second glance upon the handsome stranger. "Lost no time on the road—eh!—I didn't expect you till to-morrow at the earliest. You understand. “You love some one else?” he repeated.
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