Wood, whose admiration for masculine beauty was by no means abated, glanced at the well-proportioned figure of the young man, and made him a very civil salutation. Jonathan stepped behind a curtain. ‘Oh, Jacques, I cannot forgive myself!’ ‘Never you fret, miss,’ he uttered at once in a faint voice. “Thank you—and good-bye. Lucy wore it every day from then on. " "Who's lost?" demanded Ireton. “I must live, you know.
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