Wood?" "With pleasure," replied the woollen-draper. She was gone. And here she was—in a mess because it had been impossible for her to avoid leaning upon another man. “That is my dream of you,” said Manning, warming. She read voraciously, and presently, because of her aunt’s censorship, she took to smuggling any books she thought might be prohibited instead of bringing them home openly, and she went to the theatre whenever she could produce an acceptable friend to accompany her. "Your name is Spurlock?" "It is. “You are too good for me,” she said in a low voice.
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