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Updated: June 13, 2025


After looking back along the passage, and closing my door, she saw that my little bay-window had its old-fashioned shutters fastened, and then, in a very low whisper, she said, "What you want to know is here, miss." "Indeed!" I answered, in my usual voice. "How can you know that? The letter is sealed." "Hush! Would you have me ruined for your sake? This was at the bottom of the Nepheton bag.

Busk was not so certain as she had been, when she found that the initials were the initials of a lord. And then I asked her how she came to fix upon that letter among so many others, and to feel so sure that it came from my treacherous enemy. "In the first place, I know every letter from Nepheton," she answered, very sensibly.

"There are only fourteen people that write letters in the place, and twelve of those fourteen buy their paper in my shop there is no shop at all at Nepheton. In the next place, none of them could write a hand like that, except the parson and the doctor, who are far above disguise. And two other things made me certain as could be.

And so, when it was done, I was twenty minutes late for the up mail and the cross-country post, and had to move my hands pretty sharp, I can assure you. That doesn't matter; I got through it, with the driver of the cart obliging, by means of some beer and cold bacon. But what I feared most was the Nepheton bag, having seen the old man at the funeral, and knowing what they do afterward.

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