So, let's think no more about it. His stories had enchanted her, even if in some deep corner of her heart she guessed they were not entirely true. "I've been wondering, until this morning, if you were real. She took up one of her father’s novels and put it down again, fretted up to her own room for some work, sat on her bed and meditated upon the room that she was now really abandoning forever, and returned at length with a stocking to darn. “I don’t know. “I always shall. It was fortunate that by this time Winifred had so far recovered, as to be able to afford her father the best and only solace that, under the circumstances, he could have received,—her personal attentions. The man was my husband. You shall swing for this after next sessions, or my name's not Jonathan Wild.
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