"There he is!" cried Winifred, starting up, joyfully, and proving by the exclamation that her thoughts were dwelling upon one subject only. How did you get your luggage out of the house? Wasn’t it—wasn’t it rather in some respects—rather a lark? It’s one of my regrets for my lost youth. They were very nice about it, in memory of your father. ‘You’re the most troublesome wretch I’ve ever encountered,’ he told her bitterly.
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