" With these words, he tore the mantle from Wood's back, and, perceiving the child, endeavoured to seize it. Her hair was gathered up behind, in a sort of pad, according to the then prevailing mode; and she wore a muslin cap, and pinners with crow-foot edging. But most of all, I wanted to love. He was the beachcomber, or the old sailor with the black pearl (Ruth's tales), or the wastrel musician McClintock had described to him. "Lord, if I can only remember to write it exactly as you told it!" He jumped to his feet. He never felt any need to explain himself. There are men in the Lowndean who laugh at him—simply laugh at him.
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