“You are coming my way,” Courtlaw answered. “Forgive me,” he said. He seated himself before it. He went in and leaned, panting, against one wall. There was something about their greeting and the tone of Annabel’s exclamation which puzzled her. Once more he was the searcher. 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.
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