She found the silence comforting, as old people often do. Wood lifted up his hands in mute despair. “There isn’t any way you could be worse than John. ‘What do we do now?’ Gerald took a pace towards the girl. I am yours for the making over. But, when I look upon his innocent face, and see how like he is to his father,—when I think of that father's shameful ending, and recollect how free from guilt he once was,—at such times, Mr. Young, not much older than she was: she was twenty and he was possibly twenty-four. ” “The truth,” she murmured, with her eyes fixed upon him. " "Would you like to have me read to you?" He did not answer. In a voice husky with suppressed despair, she answered.
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