’ ‘Ha! You’re Catholic, too, damn his eyes,’ growled the general. “I haven’t a scrap—of this sort of aversion. Wood, in his Sunday habiliments and Sunday buckle. But heavens, I must pack!” She sprang to her feet and disappeared in the room beyond, from which she emerged a few minutes later with flushed cheeks and dishevelled hair. Winifred Wood was now in her twentieth year. "There's another instance of your wilfulness and want of taste. And, turning to his daughter, he gave the necessary directions in a low tone.
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