Wood was unable to discover the figure of the widow, but he recognised her dry, hacking cough, and was about to call her down, if she could not find the key, as he imagined must be the case, when a loud noise was heard, as though a chest, or some weighty substance, had fallen upon the floor. “I am off to-night,” he said. Many things were only words, sounds; she could not construct these words and sounds into objects; or, if she did, invariably missed the mark. .
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