“Your teeth are chattering! I’ll make you some hot chocolate!” Cathy cried. An iron fillet secured the socket of the bolt and the box of the lock to the main post of the doorway. The elements were wrathful as their passions. By and by—as the paroxysm subsided and he became motionless—she stole back to the bungalow to wait. To the poor carpenter it seemed an endless distance.
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