His curiosity, his literary instincts, had been submerged by the recurring thought of the fool he had made of himself. “I’m sorry. "Aw, piffle!" he said, half aloud and rather disgustedly, as he stepped out into the sunshine. “One can’t tell. "My God! will you see your child strangled before your eyes, and not so much as scream for help?" said Wood, staring at the widow with a look of surprise and horror.
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