Then he threw the letter at me. Her hand came up and she laced her fingers with his. Instead, her husband was probably wise. But was it Faith? That is what she was this day going to find out. Wood, who had been absent on business during the greater part of the day, returned (perhaps not altogether undesignedly) at an earlier hour than was expected, to his dwelling in Wych Street, Drury Lane; and was about to enter his workshop, when, not hearing any sound of labour issue from within, he began to suspect that an apprentice, of whose habits of industry he entertained some doubt, was neglecting his employment. “I am very much obliged for the tea,” she said.
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