Mike seemed visibly happier at her remark. “Accident! She shot me,” he muttered. "My own father!" Queerly the room and its objects receded and vanished; and there intervened a series of mental pictures that so long as she lived would ever be recurring. He tasted like cinders and ash, but not of smoke. "And now, widow," he continued, "attend to the next verse, for it consarns a friend o' yours. " CHAPTER XV. As O'Higgins signed the hotel register, his keen glance took in the latest signatures.
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