Now, it was a wilderness of weeds. She sat in a chair in the parlour and regarded the darkening sky through the small casement window. "In case he should consent—" "He never will," interrupted Winifred. Sepulchre's church, where, in compliance with an old custom, it halted. If only sometimes he would grow angry at her, impatient! But his tender courtesy was unfailing; and under this would be the abiding bitterness of having mistaken gratitude for love. Wood laughed louder than ever. You sent back my Christmas checks.
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