“Don’t be a hypocrite. The folds of a thick muslin neckcloth in some degree protected him, but the gash was desperate. "This locket," he said, taking a little ornament attached to a black ribband from his breast, and giving it her,—"do you remember it?" "I do—I do!" cried Winifred. She slipped down the perfunctory flight of stairs, short because of the home’s split-level style. There was no need to be afraid for me. And yet—Wait a little, you’d better have every bit of it.
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