The first time, I overlooked the offence; but the second time, when I had planned to break open the house of his master, the fellow who visited you to-night,—Wood, the carpenter of Wych Street,—he betrayed me. Old farmhouses loomed as they whizzed by, left behind in the gray like mourners. Pig and brute! Yet calling him hard names would not help her. He was a Wiltshire Edmondshaw, a very old family. The situation bothered him considerably. She laughed a little contemptuously.
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