Then a servant girl brought in a telegram. She thought of her father in the garden, and of her aunt with her Patience, as she had seen them—how many ages was it ago? Just one day intervened. "Stop thief!" clamoured the rabble behind. “Shhh. "Cease your confounded clutter!" said a young man, whose swarthy visage, seen in the torchlight, struck Wood as being that of a Mulatto. There was a strained, eager expression on his face.
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