"Where is he?" asked she, in an agitated whisper. “Sir John,” her aunt repeated, with thin emphasis, “is coming to see your sister. Her slender throat was encircled by a black riband, with a small locket attached to it; and upon the top of her head rested a diminutive lace cap. “How old are you?\" He looked at her engagingly. There was a recurrence of fever, but nothing alarming. Your name. It was comforting to have her there, snoring gently. “You can’t imagine,” he said, “what a beastly thing a furtive love affair can be. The winters were terrible in cold climates, and she often had been driven to dig herself large underground pits where she waited it out like a mole in the cold months. "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. "One motive alone shall induce me to go on with you," said Jack.
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