‘How do you do, my lord? I am Lucilla Froxfield. The haste to send her upon her way now had but one interpretation—the recognition of his own immediate danger, the fear that if this tender association continued, he would end in offering her a calamity quite as impossible as that which had happened—the love of a man who was in all probability older than her father! The hurt was no less intensive because it was so ridiculous. " "I do not doubt it," retorted Winifred, scornfully; "because I attach credit neither to one nor the other. That'll tune me up. To be alone with her, in idleness, was an intolerable thought. "My coat!" Ruth did not move but stared astonishedly at the patient. Mind, I am anticipating events.
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