There was the cottage she had inhabited for so many years,—in those fields she had rambled,—at that church she had prayed. "You will be wanting your broth, Hoddy," she said. I'm not interested in him. 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.
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