I’d rather die than hear any more fairytales. ” “Nor I,” she remarked tersely. . Only a son’s another story. “Let’s go home. Opening a pair of large black eyes, the child fixed them for an instant upon Wood, and then, alarmed by the light, uttered a low and melancholy cry, which, however, was speedily stilled by the caresses of his mother, towards whom he extended his tiny arms, as if imploring protection. ‘Cousin? But I am a fool.
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