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Updated: May 5, 2025
The answer was a quick motion of Fleda's hand to her head, speaking sudden pain, and perhaps sudden difficulty of self-command. She did not speak. "Will you have anything?" A whispered "no." "Would you like to return to Mrs. Evelyn's? I have a carriage here." With a look of relief that seemed to welcome him as her good angel, Pleda instantly rose up, and took the arm he offered her.
A face it was that always had a rare union of fineness and placidness. The table stood spread in the usual place, warmth and comfort filled every corner of the room, and Pleda began to feel as if she had been in an uncomfortable dream, which was very absurd, but from which she was very glad she had awoke. "What have you got in this pitcher, Cynthy?" said she. "Muffins!
But then he gently drew her into a conversation that broke up the settled gravity of her face and obliged her to divide her attention between nature and him, and his part of it he knew how to manage. But though eye and smile constantly answered him he could win neither to a straightforward bearing. They were about a mile from Queechy when Pleda suddenly exclaimed, "O Mr.
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