’ ‘Don’t be too sure,’ said Miss Froxfield darkly, with a mischievous glance at her betrothed. " "The ways of Providence are inscrutable," observed Wood. \"Where are you going?\" She cried. “I wonder if there is anything wrong with my manners,” she said. But in its stead—toward morning—there appeared another idea which appealed to him as sublime, appealed to the primitive conscience, to his artistic sense of the drama, to the poet and the novelist in him. That's the only fault I know of.
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