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. Or was that perhaps because his business in Piccadilly the other day had gone awry? Perhaps Brewis Charvill had not welcomed him with open arms. Sometimes—a lonely forlorn child—she had gone to him and put her arms around his neck. Look out, it’s coming. I have a new cult to teach, a new enthusiasm. hopelessly, and it made me desperate. He returned the locket without comment.
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