During the previous night he had been restless; and in the lonely dragging hours his thoughts had raced in an endless circle—action without progress. Gold-handled, too. 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. “Annabel!” she exclaimed.
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