It feels like too much gold-dust clutched in one’s hand. I must go perhaps in all the rooms. She had killed him. Before he could recover from the stunning effects of the blow, Wood possessed himself of the child: and, untying the noose which had been slipped round its throat, had the satisfaction of hearing it cry lustily. At length he proceeded toward McClintock's bungalow, drawn by the lights and the sound of music. “We’ll go to a place where we can have a private room,” he said.
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