‘You give me an excellent excuse to have in the Madeira,’ said his hostess, reaching for a silver hand bell and setting it pealing. Down under the incalculable selfishness of the penitent child there was the man's uneasy recollection of Judas. "Do not despair, my sweet soul," said Wood, in a soothing tone. She untucked his starched shirt, running her hands along his smooth torso and underneath his arms. "Can't!" repeated his mother.
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