His gaze drawn, Gerald watched him dip to pick up a crushed square of white linen and a starched object that resembled a helmet. Sheppard," said the carpenter, advancing to meet her, and trying to look as cheerful and composed as he could; "what brings you to town, eh?— Nothing amiss, I trust?" "Nothing whatever, Sir," answered the widow. Her hair was of the darkest brown, and finest texture; and, when unloosed, hung down to her heels. A moment afterwards, the door was closed and bolted, and the carpenter found himself alone.
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