Wood sank, submissively, into a chair, while his daughter hastened to execute her arbitrary parent's commission. Your laugh reminds me of—of——" "Whose, Sir?" demanded Jackson, becoming suddenly grave. “I am sorry,” she said, “if you find the likeness unsatisfactory. The devil is on top, not below. I hope I haven't given any unintentional offence?" said the widow, again meekly appealing to Wood. ‘Do you need an excuse?’ ‘Oh, you know what doctors are.
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