"It is your son. I don’t think I shall ever care for this bonnet again. To dream and to labour: to you, my labour; to Ruth, my dreams. She had a feeling at his departure as of an immense cavity, of something enormously gone; she could not tell whether it was infinite regret or infinite relief. " "If I thought so—" cried the knight fiercely; "but this is idle," he added, suddenly checking himself. " "So did I," said Winifred.
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