She was trying to bring her problems to a head, and her mind insisted upon being even more discursive and atmospheric than usual. “Perhaps that is only sleeping,” he said. "Do not despair, my sweet soul," said Wood, in a soothing tone. "What shall I say? Shall I tell you, or shall I leave you in the dark—as I must always leave her? What shall I say except that I am accursed of men? Yes; I have loved something—her mother.
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