Don’t favour your father much, either, if it comes to that. I do not love any one. He took her hands firmly in his and raised them to his lips. She moaned as she touched him. Every one else does. Wood was so much exhausted that he was obliged to retire to his own room, where he continued for some hours overpowered by grief. Forgive my daring. This Joan would hold them for a little. The recollection of the forlorn and loveless years—stirred into consciousness by the unexpected confrontation—bent her as the high wind bends the water-reed. .
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