His eyes never left her face. Her slender throat was encircled by a black riband, with a small locket attached to it; and upon the top of her head rested a diminutive lace cap. It was his redemption, his ticket out of hell—that blue-serge coat. She fought a compulsive urge to yank his shirt free. I hope I haven't given any unintentional offence?" said the widow, again meekly appealing to Wood.
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