The cloth was removed, and Wood, drawing the table as near the window as possible—for it was getting dusk —put on his spectacles, and opened that sacred volume from which the best consolation in affliction is derived, and left the lovers—for such they may now be fairly termed—to their own conversation. It was a bizarre sight, a miniature manor, replicated fully, walled in gray limestone. At this moment, Blueskin came up, and kept off the officers with his knife. She glanced into his face.
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