"I must go. I saw him yesterday, and he told me he shouldn't stir from home for a week to come. ” Rhea whispered. Thames sat with Winifred's hand clasped in his own, and commenced a recital of his adventures, which may be briefly told. The recollection of the forlorn and loveless years—stirred into consciousness by the unexpected confrontation—bent her as the high wind bends the water-reed. I wonder if he really wants me to go home.
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