Now Owen Wood had one fair child, Unlike her mother, meek and mild; Her love the draper strove to gain, But she repaid him with disdain. "Once for all, I shall go. Then her fingers moved. Am I quite hidden?" "Not quite;—keep your feet in. She saw her mother, her pale face, a woman in a white robe, calling to her from a sun drenched balcony. He stepped in with a heavy foreboding of calamity.
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