I had suspected it when first I saw the spade; then not; but since the visit to the hole I had made up my mind to it.
“Bury you? No, not alive,” said Santos, in his playfully reproving tone. “It would be necessary to deeg so dip!” he added through his few remaining teeth.
“WeIl,” I said, “you’ll swing for it. That’s something.”
Santos smiled again, benignantly enough this time: in contemplation also: as an artist smiles upon his work. I was his!
“You live town,” said he; “no one knows where
morning when I stole to my sitting-room window, opened it, and sat down to think steadily, with the counterpane about my shoulders.
The moon sailed high and almost full above the clouds; these were dispersing as the night wore on, and such as remained were of a beautiful soft tint between white and