Her heavy pistol came up again, although she did not rise. The cloth was removed, and Wood, drawing the table as near the window as possible—for it was getting dusk —put on his spectacles, and opened that sacred volume from which the best consolation in affliction is derived, and left the lovers—for such they may now be fairly termed—to their own conversation. I leaned over and looked at him—he was quite still. There was a wild light in her eye, and her straight hair was out demonstrating and suffragetting upon some independent notions of its own. Nothing, however, could be discerned, except the crumbling brickwork. ‘The gatehouse? But why must you move him at all?’ ‘Listen, missie. ” “It is an accident,” he answered. She had been so young then.
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