It began in the eyes and spread to the lips: warm, embracing, even fatherly. Under this unnerving scrutiny, a slow flush mounted to the woman’s cheeks. “Julian, please, let’s go to your place. "He will be murdered!—Help!" "My child!—my love!" cried Wood, dragging her forcibly back. "Impossible!" exclaimed the widow, wildly. But, be like a son to her.
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