\"Sure. “It spreads like wildfire. " The stranger said nothing, but hastily brushed away a tear. Wood hadn't struck me. Why had he kissed her? What had led him into that? Neither love nor passion— utter blankness so far as reducing the act to terms. Who knows?—on the analogy of “Squiggles” she might come to call him “Mangles!” “I don’t think I can ever marry any one,” she said, and fell suddenly into another set of considerations that perplexed her for a time. Me, I prefer to forget that I have such a father. That turned her mind to the more generalized aspects of her perplexities again. Inhuman as he is, he would not kill her. He turned irresolutely to the table upon which lay the scattered leaves of his old manuscripts.
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