He couldn't be in better hands than those in which he has placed himself. Wood's daughter,—to whom, I've heard tell, he was attached years ago,—was brought up, his courage forsook him altogether, and he trembled, and could scarcely stand. Then they would leave and she would go back to being alone. Clarice loved babies as much as Lucia did and chattered about them day and night. Wood, in indignant surprise.
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