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. The small grey feathers of her exquisitely shaped fan waved gently backwards and forwards. "Tom! Hey, Tom!" The Chinese cook thrust his head into the dining room. I can’t even carry a tune with a bucket. It developed into a sort of secret and private bad manners. My work will be all sufficient. How much Mary knew is a mystery.
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