We'll have him yet. 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. "Is it gold?" "Pure gold," replied Kneebone. "Yes; and I hope you'll take ample vengeance upon him," said Quilt. Wood?" "With pleasure," replied the woollen-draper. I know faces. I found the door locked as usual, but when we entered this room everything was as you see. The rain smelled of the Tyrrhenian Sea, which lay only a few paces beyond the manor's white sea-soaked walls. The effort to maintain her self-control was almost superhuman.
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