Without Sheila, the denizens of the neighborhood might forget they had the ability to communicate with each other. Wood did think of it, and groaned aloud. Again silence. “I’m so glad you’re here, Peter,” she said. ‘Why, that’s it. At the back of the house, on a bank, rose an old-fashioned terrace-garden, full of apple-trees and other fruittrees in blossom, and lively with the delicious verdure of early spring. On the right, stood a bulky figure, with a broken rattle hanging out of his great-coat pocket, who held up a lantern to his battered countenance to prove to the spectators that both his orbs of vision were darkened: on the left, a meagre constable had divested himself of his shirt, to bind up with greater convenience a gaping cut in the arm. “But where are you going? Lucy, you’re safe here.
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