On the next morning—Sunday—the day on which he expected his mother's funeral to take place, he set out along the Harrow Road. " "Loves!" echoed Winifred, slightly colouring. “Well, I don’t want you to talk to him,” he said, very firmly. Wood, whose admiration for masculine beauty was by no means abated, glanced at the well-proportioned figure of the young man, and made him a very civil salutation.
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