She had made a bed for herself out of wood and furs. Even the most sullen and withdrawn were sensitive to the penetrating nastiness of the fog. “You might at least,” she murmured, “have invented a more romantic reason. And there was that dress of hers! She must be warned that she had been imposed upon. 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.
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