“This is not every day. As Wood obeyed, his foot slipped; and, casting his eyes upon the floor, he perceived it splashed in several places with blood. But she could tell by the dullness of his eyes that he saw only some inner vision. I might have told you the truth. Good riddance. Jack, however, had an expedient for mastering this difficulty. The grate was full of fluttering ashes of burnt paper, and the easy chair near the fire had evidently been used. She loved to be there, taking part in it all, breathing it, being it. With a little sigh of happiness she accepted this new thing. ‘You are wise, Marthe.
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