C&T Publications Eye On Fine Art Photography - October 2014 | Page 85

queer sensation, because it looked so much like the thing I had described when I told them the story. Do you understand? It affected me
unpleasantly, and I threw it away; it's at the bottom of the sea a mile from the Spit, and it will be jolly well rusted beyond recognizing if it's ever
washed up by the tide.
You see, Luke must have bought it in the village, years ago, for the man sells just such ladles still. I suppose they are used in cooking. In any case,
there was no reason why an inquisitive housemaid should find such a thing lying about, with lead in it, and wonder what it was, and perhaps talk to
the maid who heard me tell the story at dinner--for that girl married the plumber's son in the village, and may remember the whole thing.
You understand me, don't you? Now that Luke Pratt is dead and gone, and lies buried beside his wife, with an honest man's tombstone at his head, I
should not care to stir up anything that could hurt his memory. They are both dead, and their son, too. There was trouble enough about Luke's death,
as it was.
How? He was found dead on the beach one