All the fury had left her, swamped by an inexplicable flood of warmth. "Well, if you won't come, I shall help myself, and that's unsociable," pursued the speaker, evidently, from the noise he made, suiting the action to the word. For all that she was of exceptional intellectual enterprise, she had never yet considered these things with unaverted eyes. She felt it would save explanations if she did not state she had left her home and was looking for employment. The Widgett mental furniture was perhaps worn and shabby, but there it was before you, undisguised, fading visibly in an almost pitiless sunlight. "He will be murdered!—Help!" "My child!—my love!" cried Wood, dragging her forcibly back. A white house that she often found charming loomed gray and ashen, its gardens shorn for the coming winter.
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