What had urged her to wrench loose and fly was the guarding instinct of the good woman. Who is it?” The man came a little further into the room. You can, too, if you wish. If he ran less risk of being blown over, he stood a much greater chance of being washed off, or stifled. Sometimes—a lonely forlorn child—she had gone to him and put her arms around his neck. He carried a cane and a silk hat with a mourning-band in one gray-gloved hand; his frock-coat and trousers were admirable; his handsome face, his black mustache, his prominent brow conveyed an eager solicitude. "Wretch!" she cried, "you shall not force me to your hateful purpose. She deserves what has befallen her.
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