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Hatteras,
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"Well?" he asked. "Well?"
Walker still offered him the revolver.
"There are cases,
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Hatteras took the revolver in silence, laid it on the table, fingered it for a little.
"My wife must never know," he said.
"There's the pistol. Outside's the swamp. The swamp will tell no tales, nor shall I. Your wife need never know."
Hatteras picked up the pistol and stood up.
"Good-bye, Jim," he said, and half pushed out his hand. Walker shook his head,
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Walker heard him climb over the fence; and then followed as far as the verandah. In the still night the rustle and swish of the undergrowth came quite clearly to his ears. The sound ceased, and a few minutes afterwards the muffled crack of a pistol shot broke the silence like the tap of a hammer. The swamp, as Walker prophesied, told no tales. Mrs. Hatteras gave the one explanation of her husband's disappearance that she knew and returned brokenhearted to England. There was some loud talk about the self-sacrificing energy,
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