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. Had he had the child to think of, he might have recovered from his grief at Mary’s death. You’re going to live under the cat’s foot. ” She stared hard at her finger-nails. ” She replied dryly. . Her birthday was four months away, and that, at its extremist point, might give her another five pounds.
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