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A Short Story : The Story Of The Story-A Story?

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As more and more people filled the room, I asked Jane why they had hired so quickly if they already had so much help. “Well no one is being allowed to leave the house until they finish the murder investigation,” she replied, “but many of them have handed in their notices.” “A murder investigation!” I exclaimed. “You mean she was murdered?” “Yes, didn’t you know? Lady Anne Sylvester was poisoned, and we’re all under suspicion for the time being.” What a curious place this house was turning out to be. “Is that why everyone is acting so nervous?” “Partly,” Jane answered, “and partly because the thought of murder itself is horrifying.” I went about my work that day with very little difficulty. There was not a lot to do because there were more servants than were needed. When I was doing my chores on the upper floors of the house, I saw a painting that turned my blood to ice. It was a painting of a blond woman with blue eyes and a sharp nose. “Samantha, stop dawdling,” reprimanded Maud. “We were supposed to be done by now.” I barely heard her. “Maud, do you know who that woman is?” “Lady Anne Sylvester,” she replied in an annoyed tone. “Now come on!” I followed her, thinking about what she had said. Perhaps someone had been moving a painting of her behind me. But I had been able to see the wall behind her, and paintings weren’t translucent. A stained glass window then. Yes, that was it! Someone had been moving a stained glass window behind me as I looked in the mirror.
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