It was precious for two reasons: it was the photograph of her beautiful mother whom she could not remember, and it would identify her to the aunt in Hartford. It seemed to him that a sort of mist had risen up between them. The letter began: “MY DEAREST GIRL,—I cannot let you do this foolish thing—” She crumpled notes and letter together in her hand, and then with a passionate gesture flung them into the fire. "Shall I help you on with it, Sir?" replied the Jew, becoming suddenly respectful. Startled by the cry, as may be supposed, the attention of the whole congregation was drawn towards the quarter whence it proceeded. "Nothing—nothing," she answered, bursting into tears. "Then I presume you've not been arrested?" "I have not," answered Wood firmly. “So far you’ve got me and I you.
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