” “To a friend?” “To lodgings—alone. But it strikes me there's a nigger in the woodpile somewhere, as you Yankees say. Superstition—you knock into it whichever way you turn. Opening a pair of large black eyes, the child fixed them for an instant upon Wood, and then, alarmed by the light, uttered a low and melancholy cry, which, however, was speedily stilled by the caresses of his mother, towards whom he extended his tiny arms, as if imploring protection. Jack fell on his knees beside her. "In the name of your lamented parent, whose memory I shall for ever revere, I implore you to answer me," urged Kneebone, "why—why would you not accept him?" "Because our positions are different," replied Winifred, who could not resist this appeal to her feelings. ‘Can’t see a thing.
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