“I wish that I could forget it,” he said. Wood now re-appeared with a very red face; and, followed by Winifred, took her seat at the table. Her aunt, a faded, anæmic-looking lady of somewhat too obtrusive gentility, was still sitting with her hand pressed to her heart. She had not chosen her life, but she was foggy on whether or not it was right to deny others the right to join her in her suffering. ‘One of your countrymen, perhaps?’ The girl clammed up, the moon of her white face staring up at him in the darkness. F. And he liked her.
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