” For some seconds he had remained quite still. And Gosse had been still there, so Martha said, and not in prison. That's the sort of fool your nephew is!" "Not even a good time!" said the aunt, whimsically, as she stuffed the bills into her reticule. He looked at her guiltily. By this time, the churchyard was crowded with spectators, some of whom dispersed in different directions in quest of the other robber. She cursed the treachery of memory, its frailty and spottiness.
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