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"I've a good mind not to speak to you again, Sir!" cried Winifred, with difficulty repressing a tear of vexation; "you've acted unfairly. No trouble will ever come to your sister through me. "Is this a season to speak on such a subject?" "Perhaps not," rejoined the woollen-draper; "but the uncontrollable violence of my passion must plead my excuse. She opened her eyes. As soon as he had read it, he let it fall from his grasp. I have counted you, and always hoped to count you, the best of my friends. But the vicomte has said that his sister may remain, but that the daughter must go. Everybody talking of you. Where can we sit down and talk?” He led her across the room towards a window recess, in which a tall, fair young man was seated with an evening paper in his hand. You haven't heard my side if it, Hoddy. She caught at the idea.
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