Clarice rubbed her belly, singing songs to the unborn baby. “You!” she exclaimed. ‘Good God! Everett Charvill, as I live. ‘Ah, grandpére. Wood made no reply; but, hastily kissing his weeping daughter, and bidding her be of good cheer, hurried off. Keep a sharp look out, Austin, and see that we lose no one else. The palanquin is hired and so is the procession. He was also, had she known it, more than a little insincere.
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