She had recourse to the torn off strip of petticoat again, and blowing her nose with an air of determination, sniffed back the tears. My only love is for my poor lost son. "I suppose I was mistaken," returned Gay. One who—who—tres. " "I hope such a thing never will happen again, my dear," observed Wood, mildly, "but, when it does, it will be time to consider what course we ought to pursue.
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