In Wych Street Owen Wood did dwell; A carpenter he was by trade, And money, I believe, he made. . ’ ‘Fiddle,’ scoffed Miss Froxfield. She looked more than her sixty odd years, in spite of a still lush head of black hair, streaked with a little grey, which was visible under her cap and of immediate interest to Gerald. "Come with me, my love, come—come," cried his mother, seizing his hand, and endeavouring to force him away.
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