The more her thoughts dwelt upon the subject, the more convinced she was that she could not go to any one for help; she would have to solve the riddle by her own efforts, by some future experience. I don't ask you to supply my place—for that is, perhaps, impossible. Wood?" "With pleasure," replied the woollen-draper. The lines about his mouth gradually softened. What was to happen now? She turned to Roding quickly. Kneebone's 346 XIV.
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