He was caressing an idea. Another picture slid across her vision. Dump and the village authorities, it was agreed to lock up the prisoner in the cage. "I am glad you think that," she replied. Wood bore up with great fortitude against the shock, attended the inquest, delivered his evidence with composure, and gave directions afterwards for the funeral, which took place on the day but one following—Sunday. Forgive me. Somehow her walk home with him had been transmogrified into a melodramatic rejection, a slamming.
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