“Did you—did you really think that they would take you for a Frenchman?” she exclaimed. "Won't you take these?" For a space he merely stared at her, perhaps wondering if she were real. In all her life no living thing had had to depend upon her, not even a dog or a cat. Ray Plote was most certainly feeling restless, what if he had left the house for the evening? She needed to eat. On that first occasion, the delay in locating the entrance to the secret passage meant that she had to wait until morning to make her search. Ah! she looks this way, and puts her finger to her lips. Even that he was an interfering person, if he walked through that door this moment, she would fling herself at him and weep all over his chest. "Not a syllable!" answered the carpenter, angrily. Wood bore up with great fortitude against the shock, attended the inquest, delivered his evidence with composure, and gave directions afterwards for the funeral, which took place on the day but one following—Sunday. "Come and sit down by me.
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