Wood was unable to discover the figure of the widow, but he recognised her dry, hacking cough, and was about to call her down, if she could not find the key, as he imagined must be the case, when a loud noise was heard, as though a chest, or some weighty substance, had fallen upon the floor. Lucy grabbed the hand cannon, stuffing it with powder, nearly missing a swing of the sword meant for her neck. She had fled back to Florence quite intent on slitting the new bride’s throat. Life is a patchwork of impressions, of vanishing personalities. She screamed involuntarily—she had never in her life screamed before—and then she began to wriggle and fight like a frightened animal against the men who were holding her. "I shall be back presently," replied Thames, evasively. He would get very cross one evening and no one would dare to remind him of it.
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