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Wood,—Winifred fainted in the arms of a female attendant,—and Wood standing beside them almost in a state of distraction. Her figure was perfect,—tall, graceful, rounded,—and, then, she had deep liquid blue eyes, that rivalled the stars in lustre. One never knew when it would be necessary to resume her disguise. “Good God!” he exclaimed. The thought of you, wandering from pillar to post, believing yourself hunted—it tore my old heart to pieces! For I knew you. It isn’t.
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