‘Come, cry a truce. 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. Neither would she allow herself to feel guilty nor would she allow him to find a way into the house. "So I will," rejoined Shotbolt; "so I will.
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