The atmosphere was 46 strained and deathly quiet at the dining room table. \"Want your pencil back?\" She asked him warily, squinting. "No Blueskin, I perceive, Sir," he observed, in a deferential tone, as Wild entered the Lodge. She dropped the locket into its sweet hiding place. But her temper almost flared again when the sergeant spoke. Wood's advice and assistance, but the thought of the reception she was likely to meet with from his wife deterred her from executing this resolution. It was then, I am sure, empty.
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