"Allow him that small grace," cried Wood. ” “You would let him—knowing—all that you know?” “Why not? She is my flesh and blood. " "Stand off, Poll," rejoined the woollen-draper; "I don't want to hurt you. Sir Rowland Trenchard is aware of your return to England. He would raise her up once again, ply her with silks and jewels again, all of the accoutrements of the new generation: the cars, the toys, the restaurants, and the prestige. We’re different.
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