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. She would be in the library, her favorite place, or on the bench by the colored glass window with her embroidery. "You have," rejoined Jonathan, laying a forcible grasp on his shoulder. Why do you think I’m indulging in all this very un-English love talk?’ ‘But you are idiot, Gérard. And how can I get into one brief letter the complex accumulated desires of what is now, I find on reference to my diary, nearly sixteen months of letting my mind run on you— ever since that jolly party at Surbiton, where we raced and beat the other boat.
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