"Austin will stare," thought Jack, "when he comes here in the morning. If ever I did meet a man I could love, I should love him”—her voice dropped again—“platonically. Wood's cries: but, regardless of this, he darted along a passage, gained the shop, and passed through an open door into the street. She enjoyed preparing the evening meals, the smells of potatoes roasting in the oven, the stink of onions in the pan, the crackle of chicken frying.
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