She speedily reached her own abode,—a little cottage, standing in the outskirts of the village. She awoke and found herself home amid a pile of three bodies, one of which she recognized as a former denizen of the household. She could not move. Wood's, the carpenter in Wych Street. No doubt— because he did not understand you—he thought you had run away with someone. Something about this woman rather reminds me of our hostess. Instinct had forced her to create something out of rags to satisfy a mysterious craving.
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