He laid down the knife, and fixed a searching and distrustful gaze upon the writer, who continued his task, unconscious of anything having happened. On a sudden, a change came over her countenance, which, up to this moment, had worn a smiling and satisfied expression. “What a gloomy person you are!” she murmured. The wind blew in fitful gusts, and scattered the yellow leaves from the elms and horse-chestnuts. I—In fact, I dislike him extremely. Pity you aren’t under my command. She clenched her hands together and leaned forward in her chair, gazing steadily into the fire. If he stayed in the basement apartment as was his usual habit, she would have no problem. For a time she promenaded the room. "Cease your confounded clutter!" said a young man, whose swarthy visage, seen in the torchlight, struck Wood as being that of a Mulatto.
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