” His walk became a jovial saunter. E. . Ennison seemed to feel already the shadow of tragedy approaching. ’ She saw the weapon wrenched from Emile’s hand and he dropped to the bench of the pew and sat there, grasping helplessly at the welling blood on his arm. The trees were graceful and brown, arching and fanning their golden leaves as if to shower with coins the pink-gold sky.
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