Then Courtlaw looked across at her with a white puzzled face. Women are made like the potter’s vessels —either for worship or contumely, and are withal fragile vessels. Lucy looked about confusedly. Ray did not pace, he just stood. Wood," she continued, with a sudden change of tone, and convulsively clutching the carpenter's arm, "promise it me. She did not want to seem to shrink from conversation, but all sorts of odd questions were running through her mind.
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