Stanley, produced a portrait from its hiding-place in the jewel-drawer under the mirror. The fibre of his soul had to be tested, queerly, to make him worthy of you. There was a pause, while the steel grey eyes sliced at her. In this attempt he was, however, foiled by the agility of the carpenter, who managed to retreat to the door, against which he placed his back, kicking the boards vigorously with his heel. "'Odd's-my-life! what's this?" exclaimed the carpenter, looking at the superscription of one of them.
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