"There's an old proverb," continued Wood, rising and walking towards the fire, "which says,—'Put another man's child in your bosom, and he'll creep out at your elbow. “Poor little Miniver! What can she be but what she is?. It’s like this: You want freedom. Annabel a murderess! It was not possible. She thought of the suitcase, the seventy-seven dollars for a Greyhound ticket that had expired. She was particularly charmed by his theory of friendship.
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