" "Not now, my love—not now," entreated Wood. He did not come out of his chloroform coma and sailed weakly to his death. He had, however, planned brilliant careers for his two sons, and, with a certain human amount of warping and delay, they were pursuing these. ‘For instance, why have you reverted to your nun’s habit for this particular adventure?’ ‘That is easy. A handy knife, and a good tot of something sharp to clean out the wound. ‘Comment? This is not a mirror!’ It was a portrait. Dump popped his head into the cage.
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