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"Not all that heralds rake from coffin'd clay,

Nor florid prose, nor horrid lies of rhyme,

Can blazon evil deeds, or consecrate a crime"--Byron

Lennox Sanderson was stretched in his -seat with a book, of

which, however, he knew nothing--not even the title--hisat that particular ti was sufficient to

make the iron will of even Lennox Sanderson waver And yet, to lose

her! Such a contingency was not to be considered His mind flew

backward and forward like a shuttle, he turned the leaves of his book;

he slanced about the fa-room as one

unconsciously does when the mind is on the rack of anxiety, as if to

seek council froe a part of our

daily lives

It was an ideal sitting-rooe student, the luxury of the

appointments absolutely subservient to taste and si-rooenial warhly polished brass stood about on the h oak wainscoting the walls were covered with dark red

paper, against which background brown photographs of fae They were reproductions of Botticelli,