After an affectionate parting with Winifred, Thames was conducted by the carpenter to his sleeping apartment—a comfortable cosy chamber; such a one, in short, as can only be met with in the country, with its dimity-curtained bed, its sheets fragrant of lavender, its clean white furniture, and an atmosphere breathing of freshness. ‘What?’ Roding snapped, coming quickly to tower above the window seat. He haunted a state between hectic dreaming and mild delirium, and she found herself talking aloud to him. “For my part I can see no difference in any of these French girls who come over here with their demure manner and atrocious songs. Lost ground must be regained. Her hand came up and she laced her fingers with his.
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