Wood heard the cry. She rose to the fire to stoke it. I'll talk to her in the morning, but she won't understand what I'm driving at. Hence!" "Mother! dear mother!" cried Jack, in a voice, the tones of which were altered by his very anxiety to make them distinct, "listen to me. His attitude toward her was purely intellectual, free of any sentimentality, utterly selfish. Am I mistaken? Is your heart mine?" "It is—it is; and has ever been," replied Winifred, falling upon his neck.
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