" "And I trust you will never have occasion to weep again, my poor soul," replied Wood, setting down his lantern, and brushing a few drops from his eyes, "unless it be tears of joy. She could not analyse what was stirring in her: the thought of losing the doll, the dog, and the cat. Fresh flowers of loveliness have budded, expanded, died. The arrest of this person is of consequence to me. ” “It would be very kind of you,” she declared. "Let me go," cried Winifred. And for twelve years he has been so; until his long security, well-nigh obliterating remembrance of the deed, has bred almost a sense of innocence within his breast.
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