" CHAPTER XIX. " "Poor soul!—poor soul!" groaned Wood, brushing the tears from his vision. "Had I not been the guilty wretch I am," he cried, bursting into an agony of tears, "she would never have died thus. I had special ways of getting out of the basement without them noticing, and often I could smuggle a child or two out for 160 the day and they were never the wiser. ‘My God!’ he said, ‘I’ll go after them and kill him.
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