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There was another puzzled man, too--the Rev. Mr. Burgess. For days,
wherever he went, people seemed to follow him or to be watching out for
him; and if he ever found himself in a retired spot, a member of the
nineteen would be sure to appear, thrust an envelope privately into his
hand, whisper "To be opened at the town-hall Friday evening," then vanish
away like a guilty thing. He was expecting that there might be one
claimant for the sack--doubtful, however, Goodson being dead--but it
never occurred to him that all this crowd might be claimants. When the
great Friday came at last, he found that he had nineteen envelopes.
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