‘Here we go again. No good at all. Later, she would sew it on. 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. The sun was all but gone now, the horizon a deep shade of purple.
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