‘I do not see at all. She knew the truth of it all right. You forget all the mass of training and tradition and instinct that go to make him a tolerable master. She tied the obi clumsily about her waist, then gently laid her hand on the bowed head. Shotbolt, who had in some degree recovered from the effects of his previous mortification, was thrown into an ecstacy of delight, and could not sufficiently exult over the prisoner. Such was the hubbub and tumult around him, that the carpenter could not hear its plunge into the flood. She went about, intentlooking and self-possessed, trim and fine, concealing her emotions whatever they were, as the realities of her position opened out before her.
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