"But, I own, I think it is like. " As he said this, in a low and mournful, but firm voice, the tears gathered thickly in Winifred's dark eyelashes. When the lad is fit to be moved, we’ll bring him home. ‘But for how long?’ Lady Bicknacre asked apprehensively. He might be unfortunate, but he would scarcely be a fool. The lad had just barely jangled it, when hurrying footsteps could be heard inside. "It's wretched enough, indeed, Sir," rejoined the widow; "but, poor as it is, it's better than the cold stones and open streets. He was just getting cross about your being late for dinner—you know his way—when it came. She was silent, the ghost of a fading smile passed from her lips. I hear her coming.
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