On that night,—that fatal night,—Winifred crushed all the hopes that were rising in my heart. It ceased to be the symbol of liberty and a remote and quite abstracted person, and became suddenly and very disagreeably the token of a large and portentous body visible and tangible. "What is it you want?" she asked, as she held out the coat. And by degrees, perhaps, that maiden distrust of yours that makes you shrink from my kisses, will vanish. Mr. " "Ah!" ejaculated the widow, hiding her face. ‘It is in truth you?’ ‘Of course it is I.
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