" "Blessings upon him!" cried Lady Trafford, fervently. “You must not think of me as one. I am aware that you ran away from there, but—’ ‘Certainly I ran away,’ she said, meeting his gaze with defiance in her own. "You mistake,—you are mine. Wood represents him?" "He's not exactly what I could desire him to be, Joan," replied the carpenter, reluctantly, "But a ragged colt sometimes makes the best horse. It’s best. A silence ensued.
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