"Poor Jack!" cried Winifred, burying her face in her lover's bosom. Below her stretched a valley of rich meadowland, of yellow cornfields, and beyond moorland hillside glorious with purple heather and golden gorse. " "If in my power—certainly. This was in Tennessee. A light was visible in the garret, feebly struggling through the damp atmosphere, for the night was raw and overcast. So, at least, thought one of two persons who were seated together in a small back-parlour of the house at Dollis Hill. He blushed, too, spiritually, as it were. But let that verse tell my secret.
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