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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. That's the kind, my friend, that always fall soft. "I fear we're too late," he whispered to Thames. " "As many as you please, Sir Rowland," replied Jonathan, resuming his seat. The bed-and table-linen were of the finest texture.
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