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Lucy had passed the house once on the sidewalk, on a rare day when he was shoveling snow. Above her head was an aura of white fire. Their chit-chat stopped when they reached the bench. "Poor fellow! I'm glad he has escaped. ’ But I made sure it was you. After an affectionate parting with Winifred, Thames was conducted by the carpenter to his sleeping apartment—a comfortable cosy chamber; such a one, in short, as can only be met with in the country, with its dimity-curtained bed, its sheets fragrant of lavender, its clean white furniture, and an atmosphere breathing of freshness. He had his sections of the Siegfried map folded in his pocket, and he squatted up with his legs crossed like an Indian idol while she lay prone beside him and followed every movement of his indicatory finger.
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