He returned figuratively to his bed—the bed he had made for himself and in which he must for ever lie. So many things she saw that her interest stumbled rather than leaped from object to object. Wait, though. She had looked up from her seat at the small round table in the centre of the parlour which, together with the wooden armchairs beside the small fireplace, and a sideboard next the single casement, was all the furniture the place afforded. “Come, we must go home and have some luncheon. Why, then, did he touch it? As he climbed heavily into his chair, she was able to note the little beads of sweat under the cracked nether lip.
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