‘Forgive this intrusion, ma’am, I beg. Winifred Wood was now in her twentieth year. His heart beat wildly and he was afraid lest the strain be too much; but the girl shook her head and smiled and pointed to the top of the mountain. I mean my cut-offs and boots. I put my foot down like—like adamant. The next moment his grasp relaxed, and he sank to rise no more. “John,” she said, “I am afraid that I am going to make you unhappy.
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