The blood will rest on your head. “The things involved in it are,” he answered gravely. I know all. You won’t want to be late the first evening, and it’s ten minutes past seven now. Gianfrancesco had been talked into the arrangement only because the drivers that had handled the job for generations were sick or dead. The lamp was not yet lit, and in the dim light he bent forward as though trying to look into her averted face. And so bitterly did the carpenter reproach himself with his neglect, that he resolved, at all risks, to go back in search of it. It was now getting dusk, and he could only imperfectly distinguish the features and figure of the stranger.
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