She took up one of her father’s novels and put it down again, fretted up to her own room for some work, sat on her bed and meditated upon the room that she was now really abandoning forever, and returned at length with a stocking to darn. Wood's boat, impelled alike by oar and tide, shot past the mark at which it aimed; and before it could be again brought about, the struggle had terminated. . Her foster father had been outside for most of the morning, working on trimming the maple trees and mowing the lawn. It is not the woman who speaks there. "I have something further to tell you," pursued Winifred.
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