The next morning she went out with her post-office savings bank-book, and telegraphed for a warrant to draw out all the money she had in the world. "I mean what I say," replied Jonathan. " "Rot! Mac, what do you suppose the natives used to call her? The Dawn Pearl!" McClintock wagged his Scotch head negatively. No mercenary consideration influences me. It was Sunday evening—a soft delicious evening, and, from the happy, cheerful look of the house, none would have dreamed of the dismal tragedy so lately acted within its walls.
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