For she and this old lady became at once friends. “All’s well that ends well,” he said; “and the less one says about things the better. 102 When he took her out, he was proud of her. "Poor Jack!" cried Winifred, burying her face in her lover's bosom. The blinds were all drawn, the sunlight kept out, one could not tell what colors these gray swathings hid. This is part of a dream— some evil fancy.
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