The lamp was not yet lit, and in the dim light he bent forward as though trying to look into her averted face. The evenings were dulcet and soft. There it is—against you. He was an officer, and a person of very great sense, and altogether a desirable parti. "Poor Jack!" cried Winifred, burying her face in her lover's bosom. Through this, his last trial, Jack's spirits never deserted him.
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