He saw the expression on the girl's face and understood what it signified, that it was the reflected pattern of his own. "Do not despair, my sweet soul," said Wood, in a soothing tone. Winifred's reception was kind, but more distant, and after the slight ceremonial she resumed her occupation. He could not pull her soul apart now to satisfy that queer absorbing, delving thing which was his literary curiosity; he had put her outside that circle.
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