But the world didn’t do that. She was making it up. 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. A coach was also in attendance, at a little distance. She used to play violin, you know. The spinsters—who on the morrow would vanish out of the girl's life for ever—had already left their imprint upon her imagination. “Thank God,” he exclaimed. “Of course. You are afraid of kisses. Was that it? Had she clothed this unhappy young man with glamour? Or was it because he was so alone? She could not get through the husks to the kernel of what really actuated her.
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