" "Blueskin, clear the room," cried the Master; "these gentlemen would be private. "I could almost find in my heart to quarrel with Jack Sheppard for occasioning you so much pain," observed little Winifred Wood, as, having completed her ministration to the best of her ability, she helped Thames on with his coat. She washed her face with unwonted elaboration before she went to bed. She always left the table when they began to smoke. She cursed the treachery of memory, its frailty and spottiness. Taber did not leave all his money in the office. She had heard of women journalists, women writers, and so forth; but she was not even admitted to the presence of the editors she demanded to see, and by no means sure that if she had been she could have done any work they might have given her. ‘I knowed he were a wrong ’un, but that. Wood bore up with great fortitude against the shock, attended the inquest, delivered his evidence with composure, and gave directions afterwards for the funeral, which took place on the day but one following—Sunday. "My good friend, Owen Wood,—Heaven preserve him!—is still living.
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