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On the way home he was still thoughtful. Balked, Melusine halted. The curtain tinkled as her head brushed it, but he neither saw nor heard. 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. He made his speech a little elaborately. ‘You don’t favour her, bar the black hair.
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