When they were going home she asked her mother why she and Gwen and Alice had cried. The cloth was removed, and Wood, drawing the table as near the window as possible—for it was getting dusk —put on his spectacles, and opened that sacred volume from which the best consolation in affliction is derived, and left the lovers—for such they may now be fairly termed—to their own conversation. “Come, we must go home and have some luncheon.
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