207 She romanced a dark-haired farmer a few times, having long since forgotten his name. "I've seen him some years ago, I believe," answered Wood; "and, though he must be much changed by this time, I dare say I should know him again. She turned them down and gently placed the violin back in its red fake fur lined chamber. “This,” he exclaimed, “must be either the indifference of an utterly callous nature, or it may be—ye gods, it may be—innocence. ” She sniffled. Little woman, you have been brave enough before.
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