Wood uttered something like an imprecation. A short way off in the fields he descried a sort of shed or cow-house, and thither he contrived to drag his weary limbs. I have yet another. ” He declared that no book could be satisfactory that left a bad taste in the mouth, however much it seized and interested the reader at the time. ” He passed his hand wearily over his forehead. There was no response. I did not know how he would act if I obstructed him. Wood!—no," replied the turnkey. ” There was silence between them.
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