It belonged to his father, and was worn by him on the night he was murdered. She became eager to explain herself, to show herself in the right light. ‘One of your countrymen, perhaps?’ The girl clammed up, the moon of her white face staring up at him in the darkness. Every now and then something familiar in her tone, the poise of her head, the play of her eyes startled him. She was correct, and when I went directly to the street she had named, there you were, walking into the Butcher Shop. "Don't disturb yourself," continued the other, nowise disconcerted by the rebuke.
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