She put down the sketch-books and apparatus she had brought with her, pulled out her stool, and sat down. She never grew angry for anything her husband did: such anger as came to her was directed against the lazy, incompetent servant who was always snooping about in the inner temple—Spurlock's study. Jack's nose was broad and flat; Darrell's straight and fine as that of Antinous. Wood started to his feet. He was way out of her league and it was downright odd that he had obliged himself to talk to her, let alone walk her home.
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