A single false step might have precipitated him into the street; or, if he had trodden upon an unsound part of the roof, he must have fallen through it. For a few days she was fascinated by the place, exploring the moldy rooms, the weird treasures hiding in forgotten trousseaus. So, not exactly hopefully but earnestly, she returned to the feet of God. I don’t care. When he came to a certain sentence in Brendon’s letter he stopped short and looked up at her. Wood was heard without, angrily demanding admittance.
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