Wood started to his feet. She had traversed perhaps three bookshelves, passed across the door that must lead to the hall, turned the corner, and was just about to reach the fireplace when she abruptly became aware that something under her fingers had felt wrong. He shook his head. ’ ‘Pah! How can it be romantic? That is silly. "My good friend, Owen Wood,—Heaven preserve him!—is still living.
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