"My son! my dear, dear son!" returned Mrs. Her roving eagerness was at all times shaded with shyness, reserve, repression. He turned the wheel carefully as he touched her neck with the other, threading her soft curls in between his slim fingers. "Wretch!" she cried, "you shall not force me to your hateful purpose. ‘That’s what comes of disarming yourself. ” Miss Miniver’s manner became impressive.
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