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. “Won’t you sit down,” she said, “and tell me what you want to say?” Her voice was flat and faint. Leonardo had taught her pretty well everything she could have need to know, when they had talked long at his bedside. His initial nervousness had already abated, and it took some valour to allow himself to become embroiled in Melusine’s crazy schemes. Oui, dans la note. "I'll tackle it to-night!" "But it's after ten!" "What's that got to do with it? … The roofs of the native huts scattering in the wind! … the absolute agony of the twisting palms!….
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