“Why won’t you sleep in my bed tonight, Lucia, where 80 it’s warm?” He asked her one night, teasing but mournful, as she stood in her bedroom doorway in a long white gown. “And all the rest of it perhaps is a song. I secured the dog after he had wounded me. All the precious paintings and statues of the divine family were here, as was the enormous wooden crucifix set above the altar. "Mr. " "And me," insinuated Mrs. Wood's dwelling,—a plain, substantial, commodious farm-house. Below her stretched a valley of rich meadowland, of yellow cornfields, and beyond moorland hillside glorious with purple heather and golden gorse.
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