Wood made no reply; but, hastily kissing his weeping daughter, and bidding her be of good cheer, hurried off. ‘You wish a reason for jealousy? Eh bien, you may have it. Perhaps I've been mad all these years; I don't know. Now I am sorry to cross you in anything you have set your heart upon, but I regret to say—” “H’m,” he reflected, and crossed out the last four words. Miching Mallecho.
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