’ The eyes flashed momentarily. “I could not have stayed in Paris and waited for news. "I'll go to her directly," said Wood, bustling towards the door. The only thing that was louder to her was the beating of his heart. The fever came. The fire—if there was any in him—never made headway against this insistant demand to know the significance of these manifold inward agitations. But what did the occupant of the box care? The laugh was always with the dead: they were out of the muddle. Then he slapped his hand on his desk and looked up with the air of a man struck by a brilliant idea. Then he looked towards his granddaughter once more, who had flounced away to the window at her greataunt’s interruption.
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