In one angle of the room stood a disused fire-place, with a rusty grate and broken chimney-piece; in the other there was a sort of box, contrived between the wall and the boards, that looked like an apology for a cupboard. "Few stay more than a day. That would be an unkind twist of fate. Wood," urged Jack. But was it Faith? That is what she was this day going to find out. She handled it half fearfully, and set it carefully down again. Leonardo was to me perhaps like a father, not a lover as you think.
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