Fearful that she had given herself away, she sank back down onto her stool. He reached out a hand gropingly, sagged, and toppled out of the chair to the floor, where he lay very still. But I was sorry for poor Jack—as I am still, and hoped he would mend. If Winifred remained silent, her looks would have disarmed a person of less assurance than the woollen-draper.
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