“It—it—must come,” she faltered. Captain Roding strode into the parlour. Wood is now in very affluent circumstances. She understood. Listening at one of the doors leading to the Master Debtors' side, he heard a loud voice chanting a Bacchanalian melody, and the boisterous laughter that accompanied the song, convinced him that no suspicion was entertained in this quarter. So far as the eye could reach, the white level road, with its fringe of elm-trees, was empty.
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