” She solemnly replied. The road from Surbiton and Epsom ran under the arch, and, like a bright fungoid growth in the ditch, there was now appearing a sort of fourth estate of little redand-white rough-cast villas, with meretricious gables and very brassy windowblinds. "I think you're all bewitched," she cried. Something, I'm convinced, has happened to the boys. Pause. "There he is!" cried Winifred, starting up, joyfully, and proving by the exclamation that her thoughts were dwelling upon one subject only. He was her only brother, and she his favourite sister. He never cries nor frets, as children generally do, but lies at my bosom, or on my knee, as quiet and as gentle as you see him now. This laughter released something that had been striving for expression—her own natural buoyancy.
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