In the grate were some charred fragments of a marriage certificate. C. Wood,—Winifred fainted in the arms of a female attendant,—and Wood standing beside them almost in a state of distraction. From head to foot he was attired in the fashionable garb of the young man of the moment. She lunched at a creamery in Great Portland Street, and as the day was full of wintry sunshine, spent the rest of the lunch-hour in a drowsy gloom, which she imagined to be thought upon the problems of her position, on a seat in Regent’s Park.
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