He rolled onto his belly, freeing himself from her hands, pushing her away. With the last glimmer of decency he had sent the daughter to his sister. I’m that shamed to confess it, miss, but it were then I thought of Martha. His was the Latin turn of thinking; he had fallen in love at thirteen, and he was still capable—he prided himself—of falling in love. Wood again made his appearance in a more composed frame of mind, and, at his daughter's earnest solicitation, was induced to partake of some refreshment. He returned to attend the funeral.
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