Her tone was hoarse with passion. There was the stile on which Jonathan had sat, and he recollected distinctly the effect of his mocking glance— how it had hardened his heart against his mother's prayer. Saws, hammers, planes, axes, augers, adzes, chisels, gimblets, and an endless variety of tools were ranged, like a stand of martial weapons at an armoury, in racks against the walls. There were two of them. After the day in the library, he constantly demonstrated his affections; Gianfrancesco had never done that. A faint, delightfully humorous smile parted her lips.
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