After an affectionate parting with Winifred, Thames was conducted by the carpenter to his sleeping apartment—a comfortable cosy chamber; such a one, in short, as can only be met with in the country, with its dimity-curtained bed, its sheets fragrant of lavender, its clean white furniture, and an atmosphere breathing of freshness. Something insisted that those two were mysteriously linked—that the woman knew the man was there. "Because it's not like you," was her answer. Fretting and fidgeting, he had, after an hour or so, turned to McClintock.
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