” “Tolstoy is so good about this,” said Miss Miniver, regardless of her friend’s attitude. The sun-canvas was stowed; and Spurlock's chair was set forward the foremast, where the bulging jib cast a sliding blue shadow over him. Wood's reply, if he intended any, was cut short by a loud knocking at the door. Give me the keys and the light. It’s odd how little I know of him, and of how he feels and what he feels.
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