Wood then took to his heels, and never once looked behind him till he reached his own dwelling in Wych Street. Ogilvy was full of a client’s trouble in that matter, a grave and even tragic trouble. There's the paragraph. Shy, grateful in her loneliness for this unexpected attention, she had listened. ‘Melusine, don’t sit there. I thought I’d see Paris, do the thing—like a toff. Manning might go on now idealizing her as much as he liked. Wood, whose loss I shall ever deplore. Wood, who were, furthermore, engaged in a little conjugal tête-à-tête of their own. " "Not in the least, Sir," replied Tom, in a drowsy tone, and with a look seeming to imply that he was too much accustomed to odd noises at night to heed them.
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