Wood having laid hold of the canvass-bag. Or he would find something—a wave in her hair, a little line in the contour of her brow or neck, that made an exquisite discovery. Shouting to his companion, even as they passed by where I hid myself, he called out that he thought to find you at the convent. She took up one of her father’s novels and put it down again, fretted up to her own room for some work, sat on her bed and meditated upon the room that she was now really abandoning forever, and returned at length with a stocking to darn. She came in while he was still in the throes, conviction battling with commonsense, his own apprehension.
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