She could not bear the shame of it. The winter of 1348 seemed to last an eternity, but the Pestilence struck in one day. "He will be murdered!—Help!" "My child!—my love!" cried Wood, dragging her forcibly back. "My worst fears are realized. This island was the one haven he had; he might be forced to remain here for several years—until the Hand had forgotten him. The thousand voices which a few moments before had been so clamorous were now hushed. We shall have him on his return. “What’s odd?” “Oh, everything!” She shivered, and went to the fire and poked it. But I don’t think she lays hold of one so.
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