Much to her annoyance, therefore, Winifred was left alone with the woollendraper, who following up a maxim of his own, "that nothing was gained by too much bashfulness," determined to profit by the opportunity. "Begone! or I fire!" he cried. “I am sorry,” he said slowly. ’ Lucilla eyed him with one of those particularly feminine looks it was difficult for a mere male to interpret. “What’s wrong with having witchcraft books? Is she afraid that the Princeton Hill villagers will burn you at stake?” Lucy asked sarcastically. She loved him.
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