There was the stile on which Jonathan had sat, and he recollected distinctly the effect of his mocking glance— how it had hardened his heart against his mother's prayer. If she had any idea at all, it was something she dimly recalled from her books: something celestially beautiful, with a happy ending. “Don’t you care for Mr. Wood's favourite sitting-room, and her image was so intimately associated with it, neither the carpenter nor his daughter could muster courage to enter it before. "I'd forgotten.
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