"When in France, I heard from the Marshal that his brother had perished in London on the night of the Great Storm. Wood's anxiety grew so insupportable, that he seized his hat with the intention of sallying forth in search of them, though he did not know whither to bend his steps, when his departure was arrested by a gentle knock at the door. It had not tasted good since 1350. This is retribution. His diminutive hand flew out from behind his back like a wounded bird.
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