" "A child!" thought Wood; it must be the fugitive Darrell. She felt a storm of emotion surging up within her. Tucked under the writing-table a pair of yellow and gold Turkish slippers of a highly meretricious quality caught her eye. " "No. "I am not to be deceived. The little streaks upon the germinating area of an egg, the nervous movements of an impatient horse, the trick of a calculating boy, the senses of a fish, the fungus at the root of a garden flower, and the slime upon a sea-wet rock—ten thousand such things bear their witness and are illuminated. Like a trollop in heat. The thought made her exquisitely happy. By Jasus! he's about to spake to us. Still, they bob up occasionally. ” “I don’t believe it,” he answered hoarsely.
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