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How she hated talking of the man who was responsible for her being brought into the world. A wave of pity went over him—pity for the patient, the girl, and his friend. The dog was, in a sense, a gift of the gods. But behind these things which you have said to me there must be others of which I know nothing. She leaned back in her seat and closed her eyes. “Vee,” she said, “come home. ” Lucy replied sadly. "Come to my arms, Thames! Oh! dear! Oh! dear!" To repeat the questions and congratulations which now ensued, or describe the extravagant joy of the carpenter, who, after he had hugged his adopted son to his breast with such warmth as almost to squeeze the breath from his body, capered around the room, threw his wig into the empty fire-grate, and committed various other fantastic actions, in order to get rid of his superfluous satisfaction—to describe the scarcely less extravagant raptures of his spouse, or the more subdued, but not less heartfelt delight of Winifred, would be a needless task, as it must occur to every one's imagination. ‘The whole town is talking. At the back of her mind there seemed always one irrelevant qualifying spectator whose presence she sought to disregard. En tout cas, we are not talking of that kiss, but of this one.
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