"You were saying—?" "I started to say something; that is all. " On quitting the Lodge, Wild repaired to his own habitation. A thing which had mystified her since childhood, a smouldering wonder why it should be, and until now she had never felt the urge to investigate. “Do you mean, aunt,” she asked, “that my father thought I had gone off—with some man?” “What else COULD he think? Would any one DREAM you would be so mad as to go off alone?” “After—after what had happened the night before?” “Oh, why raise up old scores? If you could see him this morning, his poor face as white as a sheet and all cut about with shaving! He was for coming up by the very first train and looking for you, but I said to him, ‘Wait for the letters,’ and there, sure enough, was yours. "Do not shed more blood," cried the carpenter. She had never been to the opera before except as one of a congested mass of people in the cheaper seats, and with backs and heads and women’s hats for the frame of the spectacle; there was by contrast a fine large sense of space and ease in her present position. As she learned more and more of his knowledge, she began to realize how much faith and trust he invested in her. But she could not live in constant association with him without having these gaps filled.
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