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The silence of Canton at night was sinister, for none could prophesy what form of mob might suddenly boil out. But she did not speak. You didn’t even do that Vee; not even that. . Instinct had forced her to create something out of rags to satisfy a mysterious craving. Wood's reception of the widow, who, at that moment, was ushered into the room by Winifred, was not particularly kind and encouraging. Certainly not a gentlewoman. ‘They’ve gone, miss,’ came the answer, muffled through the panel door. ‘Here she is. "I am here, you see," said the smith. She could not analyse what was stirring in her: the thought of losing the doll, the dog, and the cat.
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