" "And I trust you will never have occasion to weep again, my poor soul," replied Wood, setting down his lantern, and brushing a few drops from his eyes, "unless it be tears of joy. There are pretty much three types, those that accept, and those who run away, and those who fight. "What is it?" demanded the woollen-draper, as he returned to the table, and took up a glass. Their heads touched again, their arms tightened. She taught him all the lore she had; about bird-life and tree-life and the changing mysteries of the sea.
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