" "So it is, child. “I am tired,” she said, “and I want to rest. Brendon was silent. "I can't say I did," replied Wood, somewhat reluctantly; "what with the confusion incident to the storm, and the subsequent press of business, I put it off till it was too late. The girl was pretty, and apparently a lady. "A mother's prayers—a mother's blessings," she cried, with the fervour almost of inspiration, "will avail against a fiend's malice. Standing before a mirror set on a dresser between the windows, two hands frozen in the act of adjusting a wide-brimmed hat on her head, stood a lady in a dark riding habit, her startled features turned towards the door. ” “I know. ” “I say,” she reflected, “you ARE rather the master, you know. I presume that you have been living alone?” She sighed gently. " "There you are, just as I said. ‘The fact of it is,’ I said, ‘I’m the new playwright, Thomas More. Brendon and I returned from the ‘Unusual,’ and found him lying in my room shot through the lungs. He paced faster, stomping around. He talked in the same style, and pretty nearly in the same language; laughed in the same manner, and coughed, or sneezed at the same time.
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