He was conscious of a peculiar pleasure in sitting there and thinking of those few hours which already were becoming to assume a definite importance in his mind—a place curiously apart from those dry-as-dust images which had become the gods of his prosaic life. "I had to give in to him. But the stone was slippery; and the tide, which here began to feel the influence of the fall, was running with frightful velocity. ‘Didn’t mean to say that. She loved to be told to do things. "I can't say I do," replied Wood. Her steps slowed. It was a great weight from her shoulders to confide in another human being, and she suspected he did truly believe her. .
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