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Rh gentleman, are scared away. We shall need all our wits. Now, sir, please answer my question. Did anyone see Measter Dunster come here?”

“I don’t know,” said Mr. Wilkins, recovering his speech. “It all seems in a mist. He offered to walk home with me; I did not want him. I was almost rude to him to keep him off. I did not want to talk of business; I had taken too much wine to be very clear and some things at the office were not quite in order, and he had found it out. If anyone heard our conversation, they must know I did not want him to come with me. Oh! why would he come? He was as obstinate—he would come—and here it has been his death!”

“Well, sir, what’s done can’t be undone, and I’m sure we’d any of us bring him back to life if we could, even by cutting off our hands, though he was a mighty plaguy chap while he’d breath in him. But what I’m thinking is this: it’ll maybe go awkward with you, sir, if he’s found here. One can’t say. But don’t you think, miss, as he’s neither kith nor kin to miss him, we might just bury him away before morning, somewhere? There’s better nor four hours of dark. I wish we could put him i’ the churchyard, but that can’t be; but, to my mind, the sooner we set about digging a place for him to lie in, poor fellow, the better it’ll be