"A thousand pounds," he observed, gloomily, "is a heavy price to pay for doubtful secrecy, when certain silence might be so cheaply procured. ‘That is imbecile. “I killed him. "No, lad," said McClintock, his tone becoming kindly. Lucy crouched by the side of the grave, her head in her hands, rocking back and forth. ‘There is little I can do at present.
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