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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. And a ballot-box—” Her face assumed an expression of intellectual conflict. "You heard me say it! It was inevitable. Love!” He held her arm and abandoned it again at her quick defensive movement. It is better as it is. Quilt, meanwhile, came down, examined the door, and finding it unfastened, locked it with a bitter imprecation on his brother-janizary's carelessness.
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