1 Mistress Mary did not mean to put out her hand and clutch his sleeve but she did it.
2 "Thank you," she said, and held out her hand because she did not know what else to do.
3 Martha gave her hand a clumsy little shake, as if she was not accustomed to this sort of thing either.
4 She put her hand accidentally upon the tapestry near her, and then sprang back, feeling quite startled.
5 When he saw Mary he held up his hand and spoke to her in a voice almost as low as and rather like his piping.
6 In India she had always been attended by her Ayah, who had followed her about and waited on her, hand and foot.
7 Martha sat up on her heels, with her blacking-brush in her hand, and laughed, without seeming the least out of temper.
8 Dickon looked more puzzled than ever and even rubbed his hand over his rough head again, but he answered quite good-humoredly.
9 There was a door and Mary pushed it slowly open and they passed in together, and then Mary stood and waved her hand round defiantly.
10 All the doors were shut, as Mrs. Medlock had said they were, but at last she put her hand on the handle of one of them and turned it.
11 It was something like a ring of rusty iron or brass and when the robin flew up into a tree nearby she put out her hand and picked the ring up.
12 It was the lock of the door which had been closed ten years and she put her hand in her pocket, drew out the key and found it fitted the keyhole.
13 She sat up on her heels again and rubbed the end of her nose with the back of her hand as if puzzled for a moment, but she ended quite positively.
14 She was very much absorbed in her own little boy and girl, and was rather glad to hand the child over to the woman Mr. Archibald Craven sent to meet her, in London.
15 Mary had stepped close to the robin, and suddenly the gust of wind swung aside some loose ivy trails, and more suddenly still she jumped toward it and caught it in her hand.
16 The tapestry was the covering of a door which fell open and showed her that there was another part of the corridor behind it, and Mrs. Medlock was coming up it with her bunch of keys in her hand and a very cross look on her face.
17 And she ran into the middle of the room and, taking a handle in each hand, began to skip, and skip, and skip, while Mary turned in her chair to stare at her, and the queer faces in the old portraits seemed to stare at her, too, and wonder what on earth this common little cottager had the impudence to be doing under their very noses.
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