It reverberated in the silence. The destroying angel hurried by, shrouded in his gloomiest apparel. He hesitated for a moment and then he followed her. " "Wood!" exclaimed Trenchard,—"of Wych Street?" "The same. White. I once might have married you for your beauty,—now I marry you for your wealth. The smell that emanated from the opening was abominable. Goodbye.
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