She sat on the edge of the bed overwhelmed, the roses cradled in her arms. Blueskin and the Minters were dragging Wood to the pump. Her eyes filled as she thought of him, the image of his laughing countenance coming into her mind, to be swiftly followed by a vision of the blood running from his cut hand. Two children, who had been caught in the jam-closet: ingratiating smiles, back of which lay doubt and fear. Anna rummaged about in her dressingcase, and finally drew out a letter.
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