CHAPTER I. The door into the passage offered itself with an irresistible invitation—the one alternative to a public, inexplicable passion of weeping. I knew him in spite of his dress. " "A short man, isn't he, about your height, Sir,—with a yellow beard, and a face as sly as a fox's?" "Hem!" replied Wood, coughing slightly to conceal a smile; "the description's not amiss.
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