Before she knew what had happened, Gosse turned suddenly, and vaulted one of the pews into the gap behind. She flushed with desire and happiness, her husband had returned to her and all would be aright. ‘Ah, bah, it is enough,’ she cried, and turning, ran out of the room. On the groundfloor the shutters were closed, or, to speak more correctly, altogether nailed up, and presented a very singular appearance, being patched all over with the soles of old shoes, rusty hobnails, and bits of iron hoops, the ingenious device of the former occupant of the apartment, Paul Groves, the cobbler, to whom we have before alluded. “I remember you now,” he said.
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