Wood having laid hold of the canvass-bag. “Who killed her husband?” “Go and nurse him, missus!” “Murderess!” Anna looked from left to right. Among the commercial enticements McClintock found a real letter. She had traversed perhaps three bookshelves, passed across the door that must lead to the hall, turned the corner, and was just about to reach the fireplace when she abruptly became aware that something under her fingers had felt wrong.
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