She slipped past the servants, her soft roe-skin shoes unheard on the old stone. When the turnkey, next morning, stepp'd into his room, The sight of the hole in the wall struck him dumb; The sheriff's black bracelets lay strewn on the ground, But the lad that had worn 'em could nowhere be found. There were moments when she thought of turning upon this man and talking to him. His natal burr was always in evidence when he was sentimentally affected. But the possible attitude of her father she had still to face.
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