‘You give me an excellent excuse to have in the Madeira,’ said his hostess, reaching for a silver hand bell and setting it pealing. Wood, in indignant surprise. Shot him, do you hear?” “Good God!” he exclaimed, looking at her curiously. “Rather darker than most of them. It was a copy of the pencil sketch taken of him nine years ago by Winifred, and awakened a thousand tender recollections.
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