"On Friday," he replied. When he returned, it was always the same. . She dropped beside the chair, sat cross-legged, and laughed at the futile jade-coloured wall. The cloth was removed, and Wood, drawing the table as near the window as possible—for it was getting dusk —put on his spectacles, and opened that sacred volume from which the best consolation in affliction is derived, and left the lovers—for such they may now be fairly termed—to their own conversation. She was making it up.
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