Wood uttered something like an imprecation. Both advanced towards it, when, by the light of the lantern, Wood beheld, in the countenance of the stranger, the well-remembered and stern features of Rowland. She had expected a love story; and love was totally absent. For a short time they allowed me to share the warmth of their lives. Under her feet lay intricate mosaics, and each warm hall was festooned in tapestries. ‘There is little I can do at present.
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