Wood's daughter,—to whom, I've heard tell, he was attached years ago,—was brought up, his courage forsook him altogether, and he trembled, and could scarcely stand. He grunted a little with effort, and she realised the gilt frame must be heavy. Here was the place behind the shed where she had used to hide from Roddy’s persecutions, and here the border of herbaceous perennials under whose stems was fairyland. Those were dreams. A long shrill cat-call in the gallery seemed to be the signal.
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