" "Poor soul!—poor soul!" groaned Wood, brushing the tears from his vision. Her father and her husband, who had both been a little pale at their first encounter, were growing now just faintly flushed. " "Farewell, Jack," cried twenty voices. But with returning breath came returning vociferations; and the carpenter, with a faint hope of lessening the clamour by change of scene, took up his lantern, opened the door, and walked out. It’s an instinct. ‘Not here.
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