She was beauty, the key of magic, the teacher of spells, the predictor of wars, and the gate of the future. It was Sunday evening—a soft delicious evening, and, from the happy, cheerful look of the house, none would have dreamed of the dismal tragedy so lately acted within its walls. Steps to aid the descent, which was too steep to be safe without them, led to, a door on the opposite side. . Its dreariness, like the filthiness of the police cell, was a discovery for her. She guarded her mother, or at least she had liked to think so.
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