" "But Wild still lives," cried Wood. His anger gave way to grim humour and he thrust towards them, leaning heavily on his cane. The warm September sun fell strongly on this part of the grounds, uninterrupted by trees, its light bouncing off the glass in the mansion’s walls. Wood's daughter,—to whom, I've heard tell, he was attached years ago,—was brought up, his courage forsook him altogether, and he trembled, and could scarcely stand. ” He signed his name and reflected. A pity you did not think to tell me that part of the tale at the outset. He opened the door for her with a faint disagreeable smile. All four people moved a little nervously into the drawing-room, maintaining a sort of fluttered amiability of sound and movement.
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