"It's all over," groaned Wood, "and perhaps it's as well her senses are gone. Her husband was drinking in the tavern with the other guests. The commissionaire smiled. “It makes me feel,” he said, “that nothing is impossible—to have you here beside me. I came to the Beck’s house. But I'll not believe it of you. Her heart was beating with quite unaccustomed vigour, her hands were hot, she was conscious of a warmth in her blood which the summer sunshine was scarcely responsible for.
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