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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. “—but this cannot be. Her mouth was once more covered as they left the second floor guest saloon and headed for the back stairs. I'll remember that. ‘He could have little comfort there, indeed. "Can't you take me with you?" urged the voice; "I'll make it well worth your while. The loneliness of the place somewhat depressed her. There’s nothing happened at all!” She didn’t mean, he concluded, to give him any more trouble ever, and he was free to begin a fresh chromatic novel—he had just finished the Blue Lagoon, which he thought very beautiful and tender and absolutely irrelevant to Morningside Park—or work in peace at his microtome without bothering about her in the least. She savored the sweetness of his lips, all of his great youth and passion and longed for his innocence, his complete lack of the knowledge of terrible things. Sindlesham tried. “They died within a few months of one another. His attitude toward her was purely intellectual, free of any sentimentality, utterly selfish. “Do you believe me now?” She asked. Guiltily, she felt very little for him, and yet she wondered what he would be like.
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