I don’t. I too can see it. Wood's boat, impelled alike by oar and tide, shot past the mark at which it aimed; and before it could be again brought about, the struggle had terminated. ‘Who’s this, then? Not soldiers again. ‘Couldn’t even trouble to make a pretence of motherhood. It was as much as I could do to prevent him flying out of the house there and then and coming after you. And what's more, I promise to abide by his decision. Wood, in equal trepidation. And through it all, like a golden thread on a piece of tapestry, weaving in and out of the patterns, the unspoken longing for love. “See you to-night, I suppose?” He sauntered off.
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