CHAPTER IX. Wood, in deploring his wild career, adverted to the melancholy condition to which it had reduced his mother. A girl—at my age—is grown-up. They sat down in a covered pavilion that housed a grimy picnic table and a dingy fire pit. " "Off!" she exclaimed, breaking from his embrace with a scream. . " "Don't be angry with me, Sir," cried the widow, sobbing bitterly, "pray don't.
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