‘The credentials, milor’,’ he ventured. It was still too dark for reading, but she could see well enough to note the number of the last page—fifty-six. And then, for the first time, Wood noticed a small stream of blood coursing slowly down her cheek. It was not without considerable demur and delay on the part of Sharples that the carpenter and his companion could gain admittance to the round-house. ‘Say it. The relationship seemed to have almost as much to do with blood and body as a mortgage.
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