On a stool eight feet high sat a small boy in a faded blue cotton, his face like that of young Buddha. "I mustn't tell you what Thames means to do for you if ever he gains his rights," continued Winifred; "but I may tell you what my father means to do. For the first time he seemed to wonder what it might be that she had to confess. "Had I not been the guilty wretch I am," he cried, bursting into an agony of tears, "she would never have died thus. I miss them so.
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