"I'll go to her directly," said Wood, bustling towards the door. ‘There was a priest, the father confessor, you understand. There was one verse that haunted and mocked her. That handsome, finely drawn face belonged to a soul with clean ideals. I had no idea!” She sat down abruptly and threw her wrists limply upon the table. “Have to take your turn,” he remarked laconically.
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