Now Owen Wood had one fair child, Unlike her mother, meek and mild; Her love the draper strove to gain, But she repaid him with disdain. There were seven tales in all—short stories—a method of expression quite strange to her, after the immense canvases of Dickens and Hugo. Presently she became aware of footsteps hurrying after her, and glanced back to find Miss Klegg, a little out of breath, in pursuit.
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