Michelle tossed her hair like a young colt flicking its tail. Every inch of the house felt safe to her, small and welcoming. His only warning was a gleam of silver in the faint spill of light from the house above. It was Sunday evening—a soft delicious evening, and, from the happy, cheerful look of the house, none would have dreamed of the dismal tragedy so lately acted within its walls. Wood; but they never come now. " "Anything, my dear," replied Wood, "What is it?" "Bury us together in one grave in Willesden churchyard.
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