Wood's favourite sitting-room, and her image was so intimately associated with it, neither the carpenter nor his daughter could muster courage to enter it before. She could not help but swoon a little. I can't concentrate on my work. She was slender, and sometimes she seemed tall, and walked and carried herself lightly and joyfully as one who commonly and habitually feels well, and sometimes she stooped a little and was preoccupied. “I want,” he said, with a white hand outstretched, “to take you out to tea. He stood with his hands in his pockets looking at Miss Klegg’s back. She did not want to seem to shrink from conversation, but all sorts of odd questions were running through her mind. She knew very well that a new thing was stirring in her.
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