" "The ways of Providence are inscrutable," observed Wood. “They seem to come to you as naturally as disappointment—to other people. As to following, there was no one. ’ ‘Must we talk of it? I’m trying to forget it. " And he struck up the following ballad:— SAINT GILES'S BOWL. “I am dying to renew my acquaintance with London, Mrs. The pause lengthened, and he had the satisfaction of seeing despair melt the set mockery of Spurlock's mouth. “I was born there. ” Annabel laughed gaily. He dashed against the screen door before she could catch him and made the veranda.
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