Winifred Wood was now in her twentieth year. Wood was not particularly fortunate in his own matrimonial connections. She found an old drunk wandering the streets. "Vell," he growled, addressing Quilt, "you know who's here, I suppose?" "To be sure I do," replied Quilt; "my noble friend, the Marquis of Slaughterford. " "Very right, my love," said Wood, "very sensibly remarked. ‘I’m damned if I see what you have to complain of,’ uttered Charvill, a faintly bewildered note underlying his irascibility.
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