One morning he caught her hand suddenly and kissed it. It was a copy of the pencil sketch taken of him nine years ago by Winifred, and awakened a thousand tender recollections. ‘I don’t want that girl running her head into any more danger. "Close the door!" commanded Trenchard, impatiently. The conflict was of short duration; for Shotbolt was no match for his athletic antagonist. But she wished she could put the thing she had done in some way to them so that it would not hurt them so much as the truth would certainly do.
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