She knew Martha would not ask anything that she did not wish to know. ‘Your mystery lady, I mean. It’s a mismatch. 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. " Ideas are never born; they are suggested; they are planted seeds. No more scuffling. He stood upon the threshold, dangling his eye-glasses in his fingers, stolid, imperturbable, mildly interrogative. Then he opened the study door and called “Mollie!” and returned to assume an attitude of authority on the hearthrug, before the blue flames and orange glow of the gas fire.
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