Arrived there, Jack felt about for a particular window; and having discovered the object of his search, and received the necessary implements from his companion, he instantly commenced operations. The lamp was not yet lit, and in the dim light he bent forward as though trying to look into her averted face. And there was another matter. I don’t feel it. Their conversation became stilted. Beyond was a chaise longue, covered with cushions and shawls laid anyhow across it, together with a discarded tapestry in the making, and a scattering of woollen threads about it. You dear, dear girl.
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