Wood sank, submissively, into a chair, while his daughter hastened to execute her arbitrary parent's commission. "Is this a season to speak on such a subject?" "Perhaps not," rejoined the woollen-draper; "but the uncontrollable violence of my passion must plead my excuse. There was a murmur or two among the watchers on the bench, but no one ventured to intervene again. Let her see what she could make here. He'll be here two or three days. Bring the light this way—quick! I cannot decipher the signature.
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