“I think,” she said, “that I rather like what you have said. I have an idea that you are in some sort of trouble. It isn’t. Her knees almost sank beneath her as she raised the latch of the front door and looked out. At this time of universal havoc and despair,—when all London quaked at the voice of the storm,—the carpenter, who was exposed to its utmost fury, fared better than might have been anticipated.
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