It’s kind of the World War II thing. He was brooding over her, she could sense it, and the shadowy circles around his lovely dark eyes bespoke a terrible ongoing insomnia. She forbade him to escape to his workshop in the basement during those times, denying him his one and only hobby. "Release your prisoner," continued Wood, "or the window is opened. “What night will you dine and go to the theatre with me?—and how about Hurlingham on Saturday?” Anna shook her head. “She must,” said Mr. Sheppard found it; and, as no one opposed her, she at once took up her abode there; nor was she long in discovering that the dreaded sounds proceeded from the nocturnal gambols of a legion of rats.
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