Wood sank, submissively, into a chair, while his daughter hastened to execute her arbitrary parent's commission. Jackson’s. I thought—the papers said——” “You thought that I was dead,” he interrupted. Had she not seen them go forth with tracts in their pockets and grins in their beards? To set fire to his imagination, to sting his sense of chivalry into being, to awaken his manhood, she must present some irresistible project.
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