The effort of self-repression cost him a sob. 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. His gaze remained steady on the old dame’s face, as he thought about it. Instead, they lived a Bohemian existence, moving from patron to patron, city to city. Capes came back into her mind. She laid her hand upon his arm. "I understand, Sir," replied Davies, drawing a little aside.
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