"But what does he mean by calling you a wanton? —you, my wife?" Enschede's hand slipped from his daughter's shoulder. " "You did not hear her when she spoke to her father; I did. " Winifred's eyes filled with tears. But in its stead—toward morning—there appeared another idea which appealed to him as sublime, appealed to the primitive conscience, to his artistic sense of the drama, to the poet and the novelist in him. ‘No one would credit that you are three years older than I. Her hair once more was arranged with its old simplicity. He was looking pale and ill.
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