I will go to-night. Wood, the carpenter, who formerly resided here, is still living?" "If you feel any anxiety on his account, Sir, I'm happy to be able to relieve it," answered Kneebone, readily. "He is dying?" whispered Ruth. 270 “Curse that boy!” He chuckled and stomped the water. He has got five minutes' start of you. She kept him talking all the way to the doorstep of the Beck's home, a small 1970s brown split-level in the old part of town. The folds of a thick muslin neckcloth in some degree protected him, but the gash was desperate. “The thing I feel most disposed to say, Miss Stanley,” he began at last, “is that this is very sudden. He refused his food,—and even when better provisions were offered him, rejected them.
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