She wondered who the girl might belong to as she patted dirt over the shallow grave. Wood, who looks after her comforts, and visits her constantly. As they passed beneath the thick trees that shade the road to Dollis Hill, the gloom was almost impenetrable. ‘Well, what was I to think, miss? Martha never wrote nothing about you, and I did ask. “I didn’t know you were half-Gypsy either. . The impassivity of her features changed at last.
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