"I have something further to tell you," pursued Winifred. The recollection of the forlorn and loveless years—stirred into consciousness by the unexpected confrontation—bent her as the high wind bends the water-reed. She saw now that it was not a dissipated face; it was as smooth and unlined as polished marble, which at present it resembled. There was the stile on which Jonathan had sat, and he recollected distinctly the effect of his mocking glance— how it had hardened his heart against his mother's prayer.
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