Wood's daughter,—to whom, I've heard tell, he was attached years ago,—was brought up, his courage forsook him altogether, and he trembled, and could scarcely stand. Her mind turned and accused itself of having been cold and hard. “When can we be alone together?” She asked him, never loosening her grip. "Got the rooms mixed. ” “Thanks to me,” he repeated, puzzled. To witness this girl sewing on a loose button, flopping the coat about on her knees, tickled his ironic sense of humour; and laughter bubbled into his throat.
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