The clouds were nearly black with rain, threatening to spill sleet in daggers and torrents. Norris. “Nothing,” said Ann Veronica, and stared over her shoulder out of the window. The door into the passage offered itself with an irresistible invitation—the one alternative to a public, inexplicable passion of weeping. I deemed it more prudent to send him to the Dark House than to bring him here, in case of any search after him by his adoptive father—the carpenter Wood.
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