He entered it; crossed the room, in which there was only a small truckle-bed, over which he stumbled; opened another door and gained the stair-head. "No, I won't hear you, murderer," rejoined Wood. What was she going to do? One main idea possessed her: she must get away from home, she must assert herself at once or perish. The sun was setting in spectacular multicolored streams beyond Whitefield Park.
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