" "I'm not afraid, mother," said the little girl, smelling at the bouquet. With a well-simulated unconcern and a heightened color she finished her breakfast. “It jars. It’s Providence. Wood hadn't struck me. If only there had not been this single torturing thought—a mere pin-prick, but still curiously persistent. He sat in much the same attitude, and she stood just as she had stood when he told her she could not go to the Fadden Dance. ” “Why should I? I have told you that I do not wish for acquaintances in London.
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