Wood's dwelling,—a plain, substantial, commodious farm-house. "A thousand pounds," he observed, gloomily, "is a heavy price to pay for doubtful secrecy, when certain silence might be so cheaply procured. Her hair was washed for her also. I can fairly understand Ruth; but you…!" "Have you ever been so lonely that the soul of you cried in anguish? Twentyfour hours a day to think in, alone?… Perhaps I did not want to go mad from loneliness. It was not a difficult affair. "My sight is failing me. His vision was becoming accustomed to the faint light now and her features were clearer.
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