That night a grave was dug in Willesden churchyard, next to that in which Mrs. He was and always would be dramatizing his emotions; perpetually he would be confounding his actual with his imaginary self. If Winifred remained silent, her looks would have disarmed a person of less assurance than the woollen-draper. ” “Don’t be foolish,” he said sharply. Her pulses began to race.
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