‘I’m not going to arrest you, young Jack—yet. That is my way, my dear. How did you get your luggage out of the house? Wasn’t it—wasn’t it rather in some respects—rather a lark? It’s one of my regrets for my lost youth. He smiled complacently. Wood's favourite sitting-room, and her image was so intimately associated with it, neither the carpenter nor his daughter could muster courage to enter it before. ” “I will think of it,” she promised.
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