But the girl stood outside the circle of Ah Cum's knowledge—rather profound—of human impulses. He read but little, and that chiefly healthy light fiction with chromatic titles, The Red Sword, The Black Helmet, The Purple Robe, also in order “to distract his mind. If Winifred remained silent, her looks would have disarmed a person of less assurance than the woollen-draper. Not fit to be dust on your boots. Kneebone took his leave. Wood, despair will come over me; and, dear as this babe is to me, far dearer than my own wretched life, which I would lay down for him any minute, I have prayed to Heaven to remove him, rather than he should grow up to be a man, and be exposed to his father's temptations—rather than he should live as wickedly and die as disgracefully as his father. .
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