"Not that I know of," replied the carpenter, who had in some degree recovered his confidence. But Miss Miniver was highly unsatisfactory. The soi-disant Valade held the centre of the room now, only an uncovered but closed card-table, its surface dusty, between him and the suite at the fireplace. "What poet was that?" "Stevenson. But I can give it its name now. Do you know this, Sir?" he added, taking a key from his pocket. “How odd that I should almost spring into your arms just on my doorstep!” she remarked gaily.
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