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She wondered who the girl might belong to as she patted dirt over the shallow grave. Gerald, whose French was adequate from his military service abroad, was able to respond suitably to such remarks as the ladies addressed to him, but was less exercised by their fashionable dress than their decidedly careworn appearance. There was the stile on which Jonathan had sat, and he recollected distinctly the effect of his mocking glance— how it had hardened his heart against his mother's prayer. One Friday afternoon, in this pleasant month, it chanced that Mr. Stanley determined to improve the occasion. “I do not suppose he will be home till late. Wood will be intercepted. She had eaten little or no tea, and her mid-day meal had been worse than nothing. Was not Gerald altogether on her side? He was, even though he played games like an imbecile, a person tout à fait sympathique as she had discovered at the outset. .
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