Wood. She kept her face downcast. Distress, deep-rooted, and age old. "She is here," cried Jack, darting forward. "'You've a long journey before you. You don’t deserve it, but he does. ‘She ought to be. ‘If you did not want me to talk of it,’ she told him with characteristic insouciance, ‘you should not have mentioned the matter to me. She, perhaps, displayed herself rather consciously as a fine person unduly limited. There was the stile on which Jonathan had sat, and he recollected distinctly the effect of his mocking glance— how it had hardened his heart against his mother's prayer.
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