"Poor Jack!" cried Winifred, burying her face in her lover's bosom. He resolved to judge for himself. Jack instantly started to his feet, and the man, alarmed at his appearance, ran off to a neighbouring house. He returned figuratively to his bed—the bed he had made for himself and in which he must for ever lie. Her eyes followed him. “So you still think of me as husband, even though we have long since tired of each other.
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