“Act three. I'm used to insult as I am to misfortune, and am grown callous to both; but I'm not used to compassion, and know not how to take it. "Can't you guess?" returned Winifred, throwing her arms about her neck. The ruffian caught hold of her hair, and held her fast. ‘Comment? What do you wish?’ ‘What the devil do you think you’re up to now, I’d like to know?’ Her eyes flashed. She turned about, and was persecuted by visions, half memories, half dreams, of Ramage. "Don't speak ill of him behind his back, father," interposed Thames. “Nothing so base.
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