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had been. I am perfectly aware of the suspicions cast on me. The examining magistrate and Monsieur Larsan are both on the point of believing in my guilt. Larsan tracked me the last time I went to Paris, and I had all the trouble in the world to get rid of him.'
"'Why do you not tell me the name of the murderer now, if you know it?' I cried.
"Monsieur Darzac appeared extremely troubled by my question, and replied to me in a hesitating tone:
"'I? - I know the name of the murderer? Why, how could I know his name?'
"I at once replied: 'From Mademoiselle Stangerson.'
"He grew so pale that I thought he was about to faint, and I saw that I had hit the nail right on the head. Mademoiselle and he knew the name of the murderer! When he recovered himself, he said to me: 'I am going to leave you. Since you have been here I have appreciated your exceptional intelligence and your unequalled ingenuity. But I ask this service of you. Perhaps I am wrong to fear an attack during the coming night; but, as I

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I walked round the yard, and through a wicket, to another door, at which I took the liberty of knocking, in hopes some more civil servant might show himself. After a short suspense, it was opened by a tall, gaunt man, without neckerchief, and otherwise extremely slovenly; his features were lost in masses of shaggy hair that hung on his shoulders; and his eyes, too, were like a ghostly Catherine's with all their beauty annihilated.
`What's your business here?' he demanded grimly. `Who are you?'
`My name was Isabella Linton,' I replied. `You've seen me before, sir. I'm lately married to Mr Heathcliff, and he has brought me here--I suppose by your permission.'
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`Is he come back, then?' asked the hermit, glaring like a hungry wolf.
`Yes--we came just now,' I said; `but he left me by the kitchen door; and when I would have gone in, your little boy played sentinel over the place, and frightened me off by the help of a bulldog.'

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O the blazing tropic night, when the wake's a welt of light ¡¡¡¡ That holds the hot sky tame, ¡¡¡¡ And the steady forefoot snores through the planet-powdered floors ¡¡¡¡ Where the scared whale flukes in flame. ¡¡¡¡ Her plates are scarred by the sun, dear lass, ¡¡¡¡ And her ropes are taut with the dew, ¡¡¡¡ For we're booming down on the old trail, our own trail, the out ¡¡¡¡ trail, ¡¡¡¡ We're sagging south on the Long Trail- the trail that is always ¡¡¡¡ new. ¡¡¡¡'Eh, Hump? How's it strike you?' he asked, after the due pause which words and setting demanded. ¡¡¡¡I looked into his face. It was aglow with light, as the sea itself, and the eyes were flashing in the starshine. ¡¡¡¡'It strikes me as remarkable, to say the least, that you should show enthusiasm,' I answered coldly. ¡¡¡¡'Why, man, it's living; it's life!' he cried. ¡¡¡¡'Which is a cheap thing and without value.' I flung his words at him.