“She told you that?” “Yes. Or perhaps my father once. Near the door stood a pile of deal planks, behind which the carpenter ensconced himself in order to reconnoitre, unobserved, the proceedings of his idle apprentice. The letter began: “MY DEAREST GIRL,—I cannot let you do this foolish thing—” She crumpled notes and letter together in her hand, and then with a passionate gesture flung them into the fire. The room was dark and dusty. Instinctively she knew—some human recollection she had inherited—that she must not disturb him in this man-agony. "The men. The walls rocked, the footrail of the bed wavered, and the girl's head had the nebulosity of a composite photograph.
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