A narrow entry, formed by two low walls, communicated with the main thoroughfare; and in this passage, under the cover of a penthouse, stood Wood, with his little burthen, to whom we shall now return. Ruth crossed over to the dramatist of this tragicomedy and put a hand on his shoulder. Such names shone brightly in the darkness, with black spaces of unilluminated emptiness about them, as stars shine in the night; but now—now it was different; now it was dawn—the real dawn. She nursed at his neck as he peacefully slumbered through being killed. "Farewell!" blubbered the executioner's wife, pressing his hand to her lips.
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