"I've a good mind not to speak to you again, Sir!" cried Winifred, with difficulty repressing a tear of vexation; "you've acted unfairly. It had, as it were, blown up at the concussion of his first step. “I do want you. Sheppard, who had again looked round towards her son, beheld a hand glance along the side of the woollendraper. It was a great relief to arrive at last at that pause when she could say to her aunt, “Now, dear?” and rise and hold back the curtain through the archway. “Why—it’s—it’s you!” Amazement seemed to dry up the torrents of his speech. It was like the grin of a fiend, and made my flesh creep on my bones. It was as if he could smell it on her.
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