"When is he to suffer?" she demanded, fixing her large black eyes, which burnt with an insane gleam, upon him. If my conjectures are right, this boy would stay there indefinitely. The cloth was removed, and Wood, drawing the table as near the window as possible—for it was getting dusk —put on his spectacles, and opened that sacred volume from which the best consolation in affliction is derived, and left the lovers—for such they may now be fairly termed—to their own conversation. “You see, father,” she said, “it isn’t only this affair of the dance.
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