" "A child!" thought Wood; it must be the fugitive Darrell. His mother used to live i' this village, just down yonder; but when her son took to bad ways, she went distracted,—and now she's i' Bedlam, I've heerd. Would you tell her … now?" his eyes flaming with mockery. Every house-top, every window, every wall, every projection, had its occupants. ” He said. Above the work-table was a drop-light—kerosene. ’ ‘But I have told you not,’ she protested.
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