She leaned forward in her chair, as if petrified in fear by the scary story. To-night there seemed to be a new brilliancy in her eyes, a deeper quality in her tone. Wood. Her voice was weak and flat. I should say that having a doubt was enough to condemn it. I shouldn't talk like that. "Too late!" shrieked the lady, falling heavily backwards,—"too late!—oh!" Heedless of her cries, Jonathan passed a handkerchief tightly over her son's mouth, and forced him out of the room.
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