"Let me go," cried Winifred. "Quite sorry, my good friend, there should have been any misunderstanding between us," observed the woollen-draper. “She wasn’t sane, my wife. The joy that filled her veins with throbbing fire urged her to rise and go swinging and whirling and dipping. "Well, Joan," said the benevolent mechanic, after he had looked at her steadfastly for a few moments, "what say you?—silence gives consent, eh?" Mrs.
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