It seemed to show a want of affection, to be a deliberate and unmerited disregard, to justify the reprisal of being hurt. " "Where are you going?" asked his mother. " "Fear nothing. Supposing you fetch what you can, and if you will allow me, I will see you off. His features were regular, and finely-formed; his complexion bright and blooming,—a little shaded, however, by travel and exposure to the sun; and, with a praiseworthy contempt for the universal and preposterous fashion then prevailing, of substituting a peruke for the natural covering of the head, he allowed his own dark-brown hair to fall over his shoulders in ringlets as luxuriant as those that distinguished the court gallant in Charles the Second's days—a fashion, which we do not despair of seeing revived in our own days. There is no further hope. I’ve made up my mind. “You fill me with happiness, John. CHAPTER VII.
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