“You little wretch!” she exclaimed weakly. It was an intimate smell, the unmistakable scent of him and another woman. “You must come and see me some afternoon,” she said to him. In a moment his grasp grew weaker. Remember! not a word!" So saying, he huddled the mantle over Wood's shoulders, dashed the lantern to the ground, and extinguished the light. Cold drops stood upon Wood's brow, as he encountered this obstacle. Plote was sleeping or deaf.
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