" "I have a question to propose to you," said Trenchard, "relating to—" and he hesitated. To be near someone, even someone who made a pretense of friendliness, to hear voices, her own intermingling, would serve as a rehabilitating tonic. “Are there others like you?” “Yes. “They’d better not,” said Hetty. Voices floated down, but there was no sound of pursuit. “Please come by. "By all means," returned Wood; "don't delay an instant. "Winifred Wood will never marry, unless the grave can give up its dead. “Perhaps for me,” she added, with a sudden wistful look out of the bare high window, “a night of beginnings. Sharples," replied Quilt; "lock 'em up. Groping their way through one or two dark and mouldy-smelling vaults, the party ascended a flight of steps, which brought them to the hall. He gave her one of the sweaty red cans.
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