“You’ve got my view,” he said, after a pensive second. He held her hand in his, cupped together like a pair of shells for the rest of the hour. Such was the hubbub and tumult around him, that the carpenter could not hear its plunge into the flood. Of course, it really signified nothing in this careless part of the world that she was travelling alone. That is how I learned that there were such things as novels. She was a trained being—trained by an implacable mother to one end.
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