She occupied a small sofa, a little apart, a ruddy-complexioned gentleman some years her senior beside her, and glanced about with an air of considerable unease. It was fortunate that by this time Winifred had so far recovered, as to be able to afford her father the best and only solace that, under the circumstances, he could have received,—her personal attentions. She was supposed to be lifeless; but she survived the accident, though she never regained her strength. ‘She is constantly thinking of you,’ I said. If she’s over, he probably knows all about it.
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