Clearing the recess the instant after his companion, he flew to the door of the inner room, and, locking it, took out the key. You’ve got me. The cloth was removed, and Wood, drawing the table as near the window as possible—for it was getting dusk —put on his spectacles, and opened that sacred volume from which the best consolation in affliction is derived, and left the lovers—for such they may now be fairly termed—to their own conversation.
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