But his glance roved, to the door through which Ruth had gone, to Enschede's drooping back. The chamber, into which he stole, like all carpenters' workshops, was crowded with the implements and materials of that ancient and honourable art. Drowning, her brain dizzy, Melusine clung to the source of the flooding warmth, her hands, no longer forcibly held, moving without will about the firm back. "Where to, master?" asked Ben, touching his woollen cap.
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