The night was now profoundly dark. "Do not despair, my sweet soul," said Wood, in a soothing tone. ” Hill looked up at him, an unkempt, rough-looking object, with broken collar, tumbled hair, and the blood slowly dripping from his face. Probably his first serious bout with John Barleycorn. Wood!—no," replied the turnkey. “I am developing ailments,” she said, meeting his questioning eyes. His eyes were narrow with desire like a panther’s as he grinned at seeing her visibly satisfied.
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