" "I will yield it to no one but its mother," answered Wood. He was so depressed and disheartened that he did not then believe he would ever write again. “I can’t imagine, Miss Pellissier,” Brendon said, leaning towards her, “whatever made you think of coming to stay if only for a week at a Montague Street boarding-house. My late husband, I mean. "Ah, I see it all!" he cried, with a quick glance. Wood's bed-chamber—it was locked, with the key left in it.
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