Wood in a sharp tone. “I—I am sorry—I didn’t explain. What else could one say? I left him to suppose—a registry perhaps. His head turned sideways towards the noise, his brows scowling. In vain did the woollendraper offer to set him free if he would restore the stolen article, or give up his associate, to whom it was supposed he might have handed it. Her aunt was making herself cuffs out of little slips of insertion under the newly lit lamp.
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