But Miss Stanley took no notice of these things. It was a dark mysterious place, and what it was used for no one exactly knew; but it was called by those who had seen it the Well Hole. He hung over her—he and his loan to her and his connection with her and that terrible evening—a vague, disconcerting possibility of annoyance and exposure. She blew on the hand cannon and grabbed her bag of gunpowder. Here was a little corner of the past—a tragic corner. Then the storm broke.
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