It was a pity he didn't break his neck, for he was hanged within the year. . ’ ‘As we see. He was bringing the sing-song girl to the hotel! The strange cortège presently vanished below the window-sill. Poor thing! how beautiful she looks! but how like death!" Deathlike, indeed, was the repose of the sleeper,—deathlike and deep. The girl’s eyes never left his face. " "Not in the least, Sir," replied Tom, in a drowsy tone, and with a look seeming to imply that he was too much accustomed to odd noises at night to heed them.
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