She was ushered into the back of the squad car. She controlled herself, and answered meekly, “No. I would have married her long ago, but she will not have me. Not a word was uttered for some time, nor any sound heard except the stilled sobs of the unfortunate mother. In the meanwhile, as he talked, he scrutinized her face, ran his eyes over her careless, gracious poise, wondered hard about her. It was a copy of the pencil sketch taken of him nine years ago by Winifred, and awakened a thousand tender recollections.
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