“Accident! She shot me,” he muttered. Vexation at his folly in suffering himself to be thus entrapped kept Wood for a short time silent. Niente. 277 “I was beginning to think that I would never see you again, Lucy. The room was worse than pokey, it was shabby; and the view from the window, of chimney pots and slate roofs, wholly uninspiring. His treatment of his wife is most unsatisfactory.
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