Sometimes we had the Illustrated London News and Tit-Bits. 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. The skies became brilliant; the dry monsoon was setting in. In truth, she would quite like to have him rescue her.
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