Wood made no reply; but, hastily kissing his weeping daughter, and bidding her be of good cheer, hurried off. The woman I wanted was another man's wife. She could visualize the picture she had presented, particularly the battered papier-mâché kitbag at her feet. And with a hideous expression of pain, he fainted. “But I wish,” she said, “I had some idea what I was really up to. “It would have been rash and unwise,” she said at the end of a meditation. Not a word passed between them. He read the Times with an unusually passionate intentness, and then declared suddenly for the earlier of the two trains he used.
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