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Wood and several serving-men, all well armed, rushed into the room. “Is that not rather a profitless speculation, my friend?” He seemed deaf to her interruption. She saw her life before her robbed of all generous illusions, the wrappered life unwrappered forever, vistas of dull responses, crises of makebelieve, years of exacting mutual disregard in a misty garden of fine sentiments. "You base ingrate," she added, in a whisper, as she flounced past Mr. "Good-bye, young man; and good luck. Wood cut him short by stating his intention of crossing the river as soon as possible in order to avoid the storm. ” It occurred to her that she had never seen her father dining out before, never watched him critically as an equal. I rarely set foot in London these days.
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