" "But not for me," growled Terence, in an under tone. Nothing to do; nothing for the hands, the mind, the heart. "Not my king's," returned Wood. Who could say that the girl's father had not once been a fashionable clergyman in the States and that drink had got him and forced him down, step by step, until—to use the child's odd expression—he had come upon the beach? She was cynical, this spinster. "I am glad you think that," she replied.
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