In the midst of the holy place, which he had formerly profaned, lay the body of his unfortunate mother, and he could not help looking upon her untimely end as the retributive vengeance of Heaven for the crime he had committed. No! I do not even know that he cares for me. The conflict was of short duration; for Shotbolt was no match for his athletic antagonist. Above the work-table was a drop-light—kerosene. “You may call anytime.
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