“My dear girl,” he said, in a tone of patient reasonableness, “you are a mere child. Wood glanced at the hardy offender, and not liking the expression of his countenance, thought it advisable to postpone the execution of his threats to a more favourable opportunity. It is foolish, she murmured to herself, foolish. Anna, who was disposed to be sharply critical, could find no fault with it. Wood's charms equalled your description. But it was otherwise with the carpenter. It looks so French to be affectionate. Gay. "You poor child!" said Prudence.
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