Could she understand what she was talking about? Luckily it was a second-class carriage and the ordinary fellowtravellers were not there. “How are those books any different from the witchcraft books?” “I dunno. Wood's favourite sitting-room, and her image was so intimately associated with it, neither the carpenter nor his daughter could muster courage to enter it before. But I will never—never return. In reply to this summons a horn was instantly blown at the corner of the street. At Christmas he gave her a set of a small edition of Meredith’s novels, very prettily bound in flexible leather, being guided in the choice of an author, as he intimated, rather by her preferences than his own.
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