The room they were in was a sort of closet, with the door locked outside; but this was only a moment's obstacle to Jack, who with a chisel forced back the bolt. “What you have done. You know—I wish I could roll my little body up small and squeeze it into your hand and grip your fingers upon it. Wood's reception of the widow, who, at that moment, was ushered into the room by Winifred, was not particularly kind and encouraging.
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