” Her words were slurred with sleep. Here's a nosegay for you, my love," she continued, opening her basket, and presenting a fragrant bunch of flowers to Winifred, "if your mother will allow me to give it you. You shall know the truth. But there was no feeling of remorse; there was only the sensation of exaltation. She had grabbed! She became less and less attentive to his meditative, self-complacent fragments of talk as she told herself this.
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