I just wanted a breath of air. " "I declare I don't know what to do," said Wood, burned by conflicting emotions. “My dear Anna,” he answered. He was conscious of a peculiar pleasure in sitting there and thinking of those few hours which already were becoming to assume a definite importance in his mind—a place curiously apart from those dry-as-dust images which had become the gods of his prosaic life. A film of dust lay upon it; the ink marks were ancient.
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