Wood, meantime, had not remained idle. 82 She was putting a manuscript away, gingerly locking its heavy tooled cover, but it was a huge, awkward tome. She sat, crouched together, by the corner of the hearthrug under the bookcase that supported the pig’s skull, and looked into the fire and up at Ann Veronica’s face, and let herself go. Couldn’t make head nor tail of that note of yours.
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