" "Poor soul!—poor soul!" groaned Wood, brushing the tears from his vision. The latter request, though treated with supreme contempt by Mr. Not to go to her is wickeder than if I had run away with my friend's wife. He sat in much the same attitude, and she stood just as she had stood when he told her she could not go to the Fadden Dance. The arrival of the cart at the end of Field Lane, appeared the signal for an attempt at rescue. But here the resemblance stopped.
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