The spinster saw herself growing warm again in the morning sunshine of youth —a flaring ember before the hearth grew cold. Wood and several serving-men, all well armed, rushed into the room. “Dear me! I wonder where Sir John picked her up. You’ll never even see me again, for that 268 matter. As Mrs. “I throw it out in passing,” he said. He was sitting back from the table now, with one arm over the back of his green chair and the other resting on the little table. Where was this kindly world she had drawn so rosily in fancy? Disillusion everywhere. I thought it better not to send him away till I'd mentioned the circumstance to you.
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