She would come back and write letters, carefully planned and written letters, or read some book she had fetched from Mudie’s—she had invested a half-guinea with Mudie’s—or sit over her fire and think. “I don’t know whether I shall go on,” said Gwen, a novel note of languorous professionalism creeping into her voice. Sheppard, who witnessed this occurrence with dismay, looked timorously at Wood, in expectation of some hint being given as to the course she had better pursue; but, receiving none, for the carpenter was too much agitated to attend to her, she ventured to express a fear that she was intruding. ’ Gerald sat back in his chair, thinking hard. Their flitting hands were always touching. "I am," replied Jonathan, following him, "and so," he added in an undertone, "are your captors.
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