Wood made no reply; but, hastily kissing his weeping daughter, and bidding her be of good cheer, hurried off. Her roving eagerness was at all times shaded with shyness, reserve, repression. What he needed was not a food but a flavour; and the cocoanut taste of the chestnuts soothed his burning tongue and throat. ‘Lord in heaven, could it be so?’ ‘Don’t look at me,’ exploded Hilary. When he was up and about, the idea of flight would return.
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