David Courtlaw. Her confession was still unmade. Much too formal for a cosy chat between old friends. He wore a threecornered hat, a sandy-coloured scratch wig, and had a thick woollen wrapper folded round his throat. At noon the doctor himself arrived. I was in hopes you'd be content with my hat and wig. Beyond was another door, on which was painted in black letters: MR. Wood made no reply; but, hastily kissing his weeping daughter, and bidding her be of good cheer, hurried off.
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