Loving was better than that. Winifred's face had a thoroughly amiable look. She would never look squarely at these dream forms that mocked the social order in which she lived, never admit she listened to the soft whisperings in her ear. Imagination, coloured by the obscurity, peopled the air with phantoms. It was still so dark, that nothing could be distinguished except the heavy masses of timber by which the premises were surrounded; but as they advanced, lights were visible in some of the windows.
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