"Well—well," grumbled Jonathan, "I suppose I must be content. Wood made no reply; but, hastily kissing his weeping daughter, and bidding her be of good cheer, hurried off. Charvill’s fury was burning out. She leaned forward, her chin in her palms, her elbows on her knees, and she set her gaze upon his face and kept it there in dreamy contemplation.
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