‘Idiot!’ ‘Enough, now! Softly, you little termagant,’ he ordered, seizing her wrists to hold her off. Here again instinct guided her. He shook his head. “Steady on!” he cried. I don’t want to stop your singing. The slim knife was wrested from her grasp, and she was flung backwards, towards the bookcases. She was lovely, painted like the porcelain doll he had always wanted her to be. “I think you are getting to understand me better. Wood then led the way up a rather high and, according to modern notions, incommodious flight of steps, and introduced his guest to a neat parlour, the windows of which were darkened by pots of flowers and creepers.
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