“Stop! Don’t put your face there. Upon my word—you are Miss Pellissier, aren’t you?” “I certainly am,” she admitted. The blood will rest on your head. Alarmed by these prognostications of a storm, and feeling too much exhausted from his late severe treatment to proceed further on foot, Wood endeavoured to find a tavern where he might warm and otherwise refresh himself. Entering the workshop, he found the blacksmith occupied in heating the tire of a cart wheel.
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