If Winifred remained silent, her looks would have disarmed a person of less assurance than the woollen-draper. “John,” she said, “I am afraid that I am going to make you unhappy. God had never answered any of her prayers. You are much more like what I was then. It’s like this: You want freedom. Washed in light from the vestry window, she held her ground, all thought at bay, bar the steel determination long ago instilled in her by her unconventional tutor.
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