Her tears dissipated as she began to convulse, completely devoid of any spare fluid. And the infernal thought of that kiss returned—the softness of her lips and the cool smoothness of her cheeks. "Going to befuddle himself between now and dinner," was the comment of Prudence. Wood's dwelling,—a plain, substantial, commodious farm-house. But there was, it insisted, no mobility in his face, no movement, nothing about him that warmed.
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