"Don't look at it, I entreat," she cried. . . Wood, who had worked herself into a passion; "and, I'll warrant 'em, the boldest robber among 'em shall repent it, if he comes across me. The winters were bitter here, they could have just as easily been frozen off. From time to time she would come upon a line of singular beauty or a paragraph full of haunting music; and these would send her rushing on for something that never happened.
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