He recognized the handwriting, and turned a shade paler. 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. ’ ‘Indeed, I’m beginning to think so,’ he said ruefully. “How’d you know it was me?” He looked conspiratorially into the room for hidden informants. ” He left her where she was, crying in the doorway. ” “It was a delightful piece of good fortune that I should have met you,” he answered.
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