CHAPTER II. Wood made no reply; but, hastily kissing his weeping daughter, and bidding her be of good cheer, hurried off. “Good-looking rascal she met at Worthing. ” He put his hands in his pockets, his mouth puckered to a whistle, and he went to the door of the outer preparation-room and stood there, looking, save for the faintest intensification of his natural ruddiness, the embodiment of blond serenity. He shrieked with agony, and clung with desperate tenacity to the roughened stones.
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