"Well, well, we'll say no more about it," replied Wood; "and, by way of changing the subject, let me advise you on no account to fly to strong waters for consolation, Joan. She could not run, her limbs were frozen. That was Leonardo’s motto. All through that brief but measureless space of time during which wonder kept him silent, as fear did her, she cowered there, a limp helpless object. He may die. The light of memory flashed in the man’s face. All her protests seemed stifled before she could find words to utter them. "I have nearly done," replied the stranger.
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