” “Perhaps not in a general way,” he answered calmly. " "Not at fisticuffs, perhaps," interrupted Jack, fiercely; "but I've my knife. ” He looked into her pale blue eyes. Then she sat watching the play, sometimes offering a helpful suggestion, sometimes letting her attention wander to the smoothly shining arms she had folded across her knees just below the edge of the table. \"What did you think of Poltergeist, John?\" She tried to engage him in conversation as Mark's music blared from the van's stereo system. There were seven tales in all—short stories—a method of expression quite strange to her, after the immense canvases of Dickens and Hugo. Every inch of the house felt safe to her, small and welcoming. Wood, I desire you'll put on your best things, and join us as soon as possible.
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