Wood," she continued, with a sudden change of tone, and convulsively clutching the carpenter's arm, "promise it me. "He says he don't understand flash," replied the lady in gentleman's attire. She went to the basement and shed her sodden coat and scarf, tossing them into her favorite modern appliance, the electric dryer. Her fingers clutched the side of the door as though to steady herself. You don’t understand the fix I am in. . . . I wrote three letters yesterday and tore them up. Your name.
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