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. The idea of leaving for Mexico had become unbearable, as he was so easy to like and perhaps even easier to love. They sell only their talents, not their bodies; they are not girls of the street.
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