Winifred Wood was now in her twentieth year. You cannot—shall not retreat. Certain of my prey, I can afford to wait for it. She tried to scream, \"I'm coming to you, Mama!\" But no sound would come from her mouth. "Come to my arms, Thames! Oh! dear! Oh! dear!" To repeat the questions and congratulations which now ensued, or describe the extravagant joy of the carpenter, who, after he had hugged his adopted son to his breast with such warmth as almost to squeeze the breath from his body, capered around the room, threw his wig into the empty fire-grate, and committed various other fantastic actions, in order to get rid of his superfluous satisfaction—to describe the scarcely less extravagant raptures of his spouse, or the more subdued, but not less heartfelt delight of Winifred, would be a needless task, as it must occur to every one's imagination. Pioneers all of them. " So saying, he sprang, with a bound like that of a tiger-cat, against the throat of the woollen-draper. “I might have muddled for a time. And when I have steeped him to the lips in vice and depravity; when I have led him to the commission of every crime; when there is neither retreat nor advance for him; when he has plundered his benefactor, and broken the heart of his mother—then—but not till then, I will consign him to the fate to which I consigned his father.
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