Every rule is against me—Why did I let you begin this? I might have told—” “I don’t see that you could help—” “I might have helped—” “You couldn’t. Winifred Wood was now in her twentieth year. The girl was like some north-country woodland pool, penetrated by a single shaft of sunlight—beautifully clear in one spot and mysteriously obscured elsewhere. “I see the pointer,” she said. She could hear the bell tinkle as the horse shook its head. ‘But he must have—’ ‘Nicholas Charvill never did anything he must do,’ Mrs Sindlesham said evenly.
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