Now there is none. There are boats on the lake and shady depths and wildernesses of pine-wood. She closed her eyes more vividly to recall some line which had carried the blot. “I am glad,” she told herself, “I came. The poor old imbecile! Why, this child was a firebrand, a wrecker, if ever he had seen one; and the worst kind because she was unconscious of her gifts.
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