“My God!” he said at last, with tremendous feeling, and then again, “My God!” Now that this thing was said her mind was clear and calm. Stanley regarded him through his glasses with something approaching animosity. Wood, delighted at the idea. "Why, of hanging the fellow who acts as his jackal; one Blake, or Blueskin, I think he's called. But it’s as you say. ” His eyes were squeezed shut. I deemed it more prudent to send him to the Dark House than to bring him here, in case of any search after him by his adoptive father—the carpenter Wood. He was leaning against a window frame, his hat in his hand.
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