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A delicate flush of colour streamed into her cheeks. It now came to him with an added thrill how well she had told her story; simply and directly, no skipping, no wandering hither and yon: from the first hour she could remember, to the night she had fled in the proa, a clear sustained narrative. He found the door ajar, and, to his surprise, perceived little Winifred seated at a table, busily engaged in tracing some design upon a sheet of paper. Over these boards the two arms of a guide-post serve to direct the wayfarer—on the right hand to the neighbouring villages of Neasdon and Kingsbury, and on the left to the Edgeware Road and the healthy heights of Hampstead. ” She was silent. Old Lancashire families both. ‘Prudence? This name I have heard it spoken.
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