“Don’t you know, child, that this is torture for me? What in God’s name more can you have to tell me?” Her face had become almost like a marble image. ‘I can manage now. How she had hated it!… All these mumblings which were never explained, which carried no more sense to her brain than they would have carried to Old Morgan's swearing parrot. One who steals. There it is. She crawled into her small bed, dizzy with the thoughts of him, of kissing him. It did not occur to her that save for some accidents of education and character they had souls like her own. It did not take a mind reader to glean that she had suddenly gained the boy’s obsessive attention. See what a horrible rascal you've let loose upon the world!" "I'm sure, mother," rejoined Winifred, "if any one was likely to feel resentment, I was; for no one could be more frightened.
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