As the night advanced, Mr. ” Anna shook hands with Brendon—a young man also, but older and more selfpossessed than Sydney Courtlaw. . Winifred Wood was now in her twentieth year. The hour for which, presumably, she had been created was drawing nigh. . A hazy face appeared through the fog of sleep, pale and thin and looming. “Do you play an instrument?” “I play the fiddle sometimes.
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