They were silent for a time. "Remember the devil!" retorted Terence, who had recovered his natural audacity. The thought of beauty became an obsession. Mr. 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. “Stop this—this humbugging,” he explained.
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