Wood, meantime, had not remained idle. Wood. ‘He can’t be Valade, that’s certain,’ mused Gerald, unheeding. "Gracious Heaven!—is she the inmate of a mad-house?" "She is, Sir," answered the woollen-draper, sadly, "driven there by her son's misconduct. “No,” she answered. Even her debt to him was a triviality now. His room was last at the end of one winding corner. He became really companionable, discussed the new story he had in mind, and asked some questions about colour. He listened to the thunder of the fall now mingling with the roar of the blast; and, driven almost frantic by what he heard and saw, he pushed with all his force against the stone.
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