"But what is an oath to you!" cried the widow, distrustfully. "By all means," returned Wood; "don't delay an instant. Wood's favourite sitting-room, and her image was so intimately associated with it, neither the carpenter nor his daughter could muster courage to enter it before. She watched her friend rise and go towards her affianced husband, a look of mischief in her face. It was the same smell that she had in his memory, but now it was definite, palpable, like a perfume. Dolls.
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