Wood trembled. Folks don’t like ’em. “You love some one else?” he repeated. It was a habit of his to talk to himself. "Mother!" cried the son, "help!" "What is this?" shrieked Lady Trafford, raising herself on the couch, and extending her hands towards him. Their expression was so amiable, that it would have redeemed a countenance a thousand times plainer than hers. Never had he corrected her with hand or whip, the ring in his voice had always been sufficient to cower her.
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