The recollection of the forlorn and loveless years—stirred into consciousness by the unexpected confrontation—bent her as the high wind bends the water-reed. He lived on the seventh floor behind a winding set of hallways that towered over her in their grayness. “Do not look so uncomfortable, both of you,” she begged. I tell you what, Thames," he added, flinging himself carelessly into a chair, "I'd give my right hand,—and that's no light offer for a carpenter's 'prentice,—if that little minx were half as fond of me as she is of you. Rollo began to cavort. She loved to walk through the gardens, graced with columns that loomed overhead.
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