His curiosity, his literary instincts, had been submerged by the recurring thought of the fool he had made of himself. Raven locks fell to her shoulders from under the feathered beaver hat, and curled away down her back. That a longing of hers should be realized in this strange fashion was difficult to believe: it vaguely suggested something of a trap. James Figg was the most perfect master of self-defence of his day. Even her own history teacher, Mr. Now Owen Wood had one fair child, Unlike her mother, meek and mild; Her love the draper strove to gain, But she repaid him with disdain.
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