She took up one of her father’s novels and put it down again, fretted up to her own room for some work, sat on her bed and meditated upon the room that she was now really abandoning forever, and returned at length with a stocking to darn. It doesn’t matter with me, but there are at least a dozen young women in Mr. Above the work-table was a drop-light—kerosene. His hunger satisfied, his spirits began to revive, and with this change of mood all his natural audacity returned.
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