“I got your note just in time,” he remarked. He wore a threecornered hat, a sandy-coloured scratch wig, and had a thick woollen wrapper folded round his throat. “Why can’t we propagate by sexless spores, as the ferns do? We restrict each other, we badger each other, friendship is poisoned and buried under it!. " "Humph!" exclaimed Wild. ‘Come, come, ma’am,’ he said smiling. On that night,—that fatal night,—Winifred crushed all the hopes that were rising in my heart.
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