Lucy had baked the apple and pumpkin pies, carefully molding the flour crusts and adding extra teaspoonfuls of allspice and cinnamon while no one looked. A wife formed part of his scheme of life, for several years he had been secretly but assiduously looking for her. He saw the expression on the girl's face and understood what it signified, that it was the reflected pattern of his own. The windows were still darkened—perhaps she was not home yet. I am suspected of having shot the man.
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