" "Thank God for that!" ejaculated Mrs. "Don't look at it, I entreat," she cried. You shall behold him. C. The recollection of the forlorn and loveless years—stirred into consciousness by the unexpected confrontation—bent her as the high wind bends the water-reed. " "It is, indeed," replied Mrs. So far as the eye could reach, the white level road, with its fringe of elm-trees, was empty. . ’ ‘I beg your pardon?’ said Miss Froxfield frostily.
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