‘Your wife?’ ‘My wife,’ he repeated, rising also, his smile mocking her. ‘The poor girl was thrust into a convent to become a nun. She could not stir hand or foot. The boy she had loved was gone. A few bricks, dislodged probably by his last descent, came clattering down the chimney, and as it was perfectly dark, gave him the notion that some one was endeavouring to force an entrance into the room.
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