His fingers slipped under the collar of her linen shift and he tore it open with a swipe. Her eyes fell, and then sought his again with timid interest. "He's not my son," rejoined the carpenter. " He drew down the lamp and blew it out, and followed her into the night, more lovely than he had ever imagined night to be. In privacy he read and reread it a dozen times, and eventually destroyed it by fire. I had no idea even that she was a friend of yours. The door closed softly upon her. ” She slipped on her cloak and stepped into the hansom with him.
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