” “It is you,” he cried, “you, who are talking folly, when you speak of friendship between you and me. She patted John's head with her palm, its surface appealingly fuzzy. The joy that filled her veins with throbbing fire urged her to rise and go swinging and whirling and dipping. There was no need of sowing suspicion when he wasn't really certain there were grounds for it. " CHAPTER VI. Smith," observed Wood. She crawled into her small bed, dizzy with the thoughts of him, of kissing him. ’ ‘But you don’t look anything like her,’ burst out Mrs Ibstock.
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