Lucy's ears were singing. " "The ways of Providence are inscrutable," observed Wood. To be near someone, even someone who made a pretense of friendliness, to hear voices, her own intermingling, would serve as a rehabilitating tonic. He would never be able to compose upon it, but it would serve to produce the finished work. ” “Right!” he answered. “Then—then we can talk things out. Somewhere in the world would be his people, perhaps his mother; and it might soften the bitterness, of the return to consciousness if he found a woman at his bedside.
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