He went to the door. She pulled her hand away quickly. "Jack Sheppard's mother," answered the little girl, dejectedly; "she has brought a basket of eggs from Willesden, and some flowers for you. Wood lifted up his hands in mute despair. Why am I here—thirty years of loneliness? Because I know women, the good and the bad; and because I could not have the good, I would not take the bad. We may meet—who can tell? But I will not be fettered, even though you would make the chains of roses.
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