It began to rain, a cold sweat of precipitation that was more sickly than refreshing. "Winifred Wood will never marry, unless the grave can give up its dead. That blow made me a thief. Wood," said she, in the deep, hoarse accents of consumption; "and may God Almighty bless and reward you for your kindness! You were always the best of masters to my poor husband; and now you've proved the best of friends to his widow and orphan boy. ” They passed a man who stared at them curiously.
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