"Poor Jack!" cried Winifred, burying her face in her lover's bosom. “You go home and think of all this,” he said, “and talk about it to-morrow. She married my Dad in a small ceremony down at City Hall. Her attenuated arms were crossed upon her breast; and her black brows and eyelashes contrasted fearfully with the livid whiteness of her skin. He had done this a dozen times on the way from his office.
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