Pale, flesh-colored light filtered in through the corners of the house. " The hint was not lost upon Wood. I don’t think I’ve got illusions, nor you. ” Ogilvy reflected. ” She nodded in the affirmative. Her fingers passed over a cunningly wrought surface of wood, with just the correct amount of protrusion, the precise colours of dyed leather, and cleverly gilded surfaces and neatly painted lettering. ” She laughed heartily, and became as suddenly grave. He’s out in Phoenix last I heard.
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