I want to give myself to you. 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. He paused at the bamboo curtain of her room, which was in semi-darkness. The scent of cloying pine dust filled the air as floodlights shone eerily through the jungle gym of new wood. Wood. "What shall I say? Shall I tell you, or shall I leave you in the dark—as I must always leave her? What shall I say except that I am accursed of men? Yes; I have loved something—her mother. There was just time for the girl to raise her arm to chest height and draw it back before Roding seized her. “Very,” and cracked a walnut appreciatively. If I'd not gone mad, they would have hanged me. You know I call that positively wicked. Her father’s ideas of expostulation were a little harsh and forcible, and over the claret-colored table-cloth and under the gas chandelier, with his hat and umbrella between them like the mace in Parliament, he and his daughter contrived to have a violent quarrel.
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