V. They turned off at Glen Grove, a sleepy town of less than two hundred. " "You do not remember me, I dare say," observed the stranger. It was shameful, but again, her mother had prepared her for it. They might applaud, or object, or interfere, but the drama was her very own. " At the sound of his voice every vestige of colour fled from Winifred's cheeks, and the work upon which she was engaged fell from her hand.
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