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Then, seated on the bed’s edge beside the lighted candle, she began to read the messages written in ink on these frail, translucent tissue missives. Every bit of tissue bore a message; the writing was microscopic, the script German, the language Flemish. Slowly, with infinite pains, the little bell-mistress of Sainte Lesse translated to herself each message as she deciphered it.
I’d make up my bed nice and fresh for you. It’s a real cool room, and the bed’s right next the window. I was afraid to leave the window open last night.” I liked my own room, and I did n’t like the Cutters’ house under any circumstances; but Tony looked so troubled that I consented to try this arrangement.
The young man already knew what they were whispering about; or, if he did not know he no longer cared. The patches of bright colour in his sunken cheeks had died out in an ashen pallor. As far as he was concerned the world was now ended. And he knew it. He went into the bedroom and sat down on the bed’s edge.
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