"He's killed himself," she cried.

"It's unfort'nate Stiggs done over again there goes another counterpane--God pity his poor mother!--it will be the ruin of my house.

Has the poor lad a sister?
Where's that girl ?--there, Betty, go to Snarles the Painter, and tell him to paint me a sign, with--"no suicides permitted here, and no smoking in the parlor;"-- might as well kill both birds at once.

Kill?
The Lord be merciful to his ghost! What's that noise there?
You, young man, avast there!" And running up after me, she caught me as I was again trying to force open the door.
"I don't allow it; I won't have my premises spoiled.

Go for the locksmith, there's one about a mile from here.