7. 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. “If I had three hands,” she said, with a faint smile, “I would give one to each of you. “Sure. " "Poor soul!—poor soul!" groaned Wood, brushing the tears from his vision.
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