“My God!” he said again. 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. Particles of bullet were embedded in Rhea’s large arm as she swung across the stones in her donated legs. I am used, you understand, to guard my secret.
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