‘I’ll play you at your own game,’ he growled, holding the foreshortened foil in place with rigid control. He bullied frankly. Winifred listened to his narration with the profoundest attention; and, when it concluded, her tearful eye and throbbing bosom told how deeply her feelings had been interested. The door is open, so it is needless to ask leave to enter. I am going to make a fresh start. We'll have him yet. I made a wrong choice, it seems—but my voice remains.
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