" "Poor soul!—poor soul!" groaned Wood, brushing the tears from his vision. Glancing at the finger-post over the cage, which has been described as situated at the outskirts of the village, and seeing no directions to Dollis Hill, he made fresh inquiries as to where it lay, from an elderly man, who was standing with another countryman near the little prison. The evening breeze came; the bamboo shades on the veranda clicked and rasped; the loose edges of the manuscript curled. I can talk with them. She wanted to know.
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