Wood was so much exhausted that he was obliged to retire to his own room, where he continued for some hours overpowered by grief. As he passed along the main thoroughfare, he heard his own name pronounced, and found that it was a hawker, crying a penny history of his escapes. Spurlock was fond of dogs; he was fond of this offspring of many mesalliances; but he never made any attempt to win Rollo, to share him. Thankfully, he seemed pleased the moment he saw her face, which her mother had made her wash for weeks with the pulp of apples, orange water, and 21 extract of borage among other things. Wood; "here's a pretty to-do about nothing. I wish”— she found she had embarked on a bad sentence—“I wish we needn’t have quarrelled.
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