Wood was unable to discover the figure of the widow, but he recognised her dry, hacking cough, and was about to call her down, if she could not find the key, as he imagined must be the case, when a loud noise was heard, as though a chest, or some weighty substance, had fallen upon the floor. It was a clear, lovely, October morning. After all, the Wastrel was in luck: he was alone. I will go with you. Part 7 That was two days before Christmas Eve. I'm no mollycoddle.
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