CHAPTER THE FOURTEENTH THE COLLAPSE OF THE PENITENT Part 1 Spring had held back that year until the dawn of May, and then spring and summer came with a rush together. The world had grown dark and wide, and she was very small. As a man, Sebastian had always held enough power to live in luxury. He read but little, and that chiefly healthy light fiction with chromatic titles, The Red Sword, The Black Helmet, The Purple Robe, also in order “to distract his mind. ‘Now see here, missie. Wood's dwelling,—a plain, substantial, commodious farm-house. ” The cabman, knocking with the butt end of his whip upon the window, reminded her that he was in a similar predicament.
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