Wood, who was standing at the edge of a raised platform, anxiously waving his hand to him. ” He was suddenly resentful. Had it not been for the Plague, she might have had her own babies. "My good friend, Owen Wood,—Heaven preserve him!—is still living. It is very sweet of you to have waited for me. That is what they call these aristocratic refugees, the English. I'm told he's so handsome. ’ ‘I swear to you, it is the exact truth,’ he protested. Then, very awkwardly, he took a stool and placed it at the end of Ann Veronica’s table, and sat down.
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