. Lucy paced outside of the stone bricked room until her mother began to scream. "Stop thief!" roared Jonathan. “Mr. Wood was once a favourite of yours. He never cries nor frets, as children generally do, but lies at my bosom, or on my knee, as quiet and as gentle as you see him now. "Shall I take the babby home with me!" persisted Wood, in a tone between jest and earnest. “This is all madness,” she declared wearily. Daughters were not like sons. And then she fell into a musing about Capes. For a time he heard no more, and stared with stony eyes at a Book-War proclamation in leaded type that filled half a column of the Times that day. My dear! we’ve had so many moments! I used to go over the times we’d had together, the things we’d said—like a rosary of beads.
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