The recollection was too painful, and he burst into an agony of tears. The women, Ann Veronica thought, were not quite so interesting as the men. Lovers' confidences should be respected. ‘Up, Jacques, up,’ she ordered. ’ You used to declare that you hated the name. Wood made no reply; but, hastily kissing his weeping daughter, and bidding her be of good cheer, hurried off. He was so depressed and disheartened that he did not then believe he would ever write again. Wet as he was, he felt if he lay down in the grass, he should perish with cold; while, if he sought a night's lodging in any asylum, his dress, stained with blood and covered with dirt, would infallibly cause him to be secured and delivered into the hands of justice. I’m not a bit afraid of anything—scandal, difficulty, struggle.
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