“What is the good of pretending?” she said. A new inexplicable madness that urged him to shrill ironically the story of his coat—to take it off and fling it at the feet of any stranger who chanced to be nigh. "That we were afraid," replied the other; "but never mind her. It was still raining heavily, and profoundly dark. The music throbbed into the warnings that preceded the king’s irruption. "Not my king's," returned Wood.
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