Lucy had passed the house once on the sidewalk, on a rare day when he was shoveling snow. " "A short man, isn't he, about your height, Sir,—with a yellow beard, and a face as sly as a fox's?" "Hem!" replied Wood, coughing slightly to conceal a smile; "the description's not amiss. On the same peg and evidently belonging to it was a black velvet Zouave jacket. They looked out over the city, grim and silent now, for it was long past midnight. Apparently I’m not to exist yet.
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