He found the door ajar, and, to his surprise, perceived little Winifred seated at a table, busily engaged in tracing some design upon a sheet of paper. ’ ‘As a matter of fact, it isn’t,’ conceded Gerald. Wood, in deploring his wild career, adverted to the melancholy condition to which it had reduced his mother. “Forgive me,” he said. I know what I am talking about.
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