The folds of a thick muslin neckcloth in some degree protected him, but the gash was desperate. Finding all attempts at conversation with his companion in misfortune in vain, Wood, in order to distract his thoughts, looked up at the gigantic structure standing, like a wall of solid darkness, before him. The locket contained the face of her mother—all the family album she had. It was during Martin’s Violin Concerto that she was extraordinary.
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