Wood's dwelling,—a plain, substantial, commodious farm-house. The Enschede Bible—the one out of which she read—had been strangely mutilated. For the past four weeks mirrors had been her delight, a new toy. You mustn't go by what you read so much as by what you see and hear. She feared he might take her tears as a sign of weakness. Life is a patchwork of impressions, of vanishing personalities.
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