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ETHEL CHURCHILL.
fulness of the morning brought its own glad tone to the spirits of the early walkers in the park. The first that entered were going on their way with a song, when the singing voice suddenly changed to a cry of horror, for the dead lay before their feet. His eyes, wild and staring—there had been no friendly hand to close them; his features convulsed with fearful agony. Sir George Kingston was stretched a corpse! He—the rich, the luxurious, the flattered—had died by the common pathway like a dog!
