Wood's bed-chamber—it was locked, with the key left in it. This was enough for the poor widow. What had urged her to wrench loose and fly was the guarding instinct of the good woman. Annabel looked up and down the empty street, and then turned to her sister. Why was she noting things like this? Capes seemed selfpossessed and elaborately genial and commonplace, but she knew him to be nervous by a little occasional clumsiness, by the faintest shadow of vulgarity in the urgency of his hospitality.
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