Her voice was soft and singularly musical; but from time to time she uttered old-fashioned words which forced him to grope mentally. A few bricks, dislodged probably by his last descent, came clattering down the chimney, and as it was perfectly dark, gave him the notion that some one was endeavouring to force an entrance into the room. She was standing before a window, against the background of the rain-burdened April sky. “She’s my wife,” the man muttered.
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