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. I don’t want a family in the suburbs and Christmases at the Florida house and summers at the Hamptons. I didn’t know. Holding down the light, he perceived that the wounded man had risen to the surface, and was trying to clamber up the slippery sides of the well. But it would serve. “Kindly explain it to me. By and by—as the paroxysm subsided and he became motionless—she stole back to the bungalow to wait.
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