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I know my son's voice too well. Passing at a glance over the whole of the intervening period; leaving in the words of the poet, —The growth untried Of that wide gap— we shall resume our narrative at the beginning of June, 1715. It never has had. "The worst house in the neighbourhood—the constant haunt of reprobates and thieves," groaned Wood. All was darkness, horror, confusion, ruin. Loving was self-forgetfulness, pure delighting in another human being. I had no idea. He was entranced as she walked towards him.
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