“You poor little girl!” he cried. He did not pocket it, but sat hefting it lightly from hand to hand, watching the girl thoughtfully. Anna made things for her. He would have risen again, but for the significance of the action. “I do not know what you mean,” he said, “but if you are referring to any little coolness since our marriage let us never speak of it again. This intelligence, which she instantly communicated to the carpenter, drove him almost frantic.
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