“My dear boy,” she exclaimed. ‘Sergeant Trodger is who I am. "Ruth?" "Hoddy!" she cried. Winifred Wood was now in her twentieth year. "Come to me!" cried the poor maniac, who had crawled as far as the chain would permit her,—"come to me!" she cried, extending her thin arm towards him. Nothing more forlorn could be conceived. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at www.
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