If Winifred remained silent, her looks would have disarmed a person of less assurance than the woollen-draper. White leaned forward in her chair with an anxious smile designed to throw oil upon the troubled waters. Her gown was minimalist compared to those concoctions of boning and lace of long ago, she reflected, but that did not stop it from getting caught on 134 brambles and twigs. The fibre of his soul had to be tested, queerly, to make him worthy of you. The flowers upon the mantel-shelf were withered and drooping—she had gathered them. Assured, if he remained much longer where he was, he would inevitably perish, Wood recommended himself to the protection of Heaven, and began his perilous course. Love anywhere. "I could not make him understand. And if he would, I would not subject him to the annoyance.
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