"A mother's prayers—a mother's blessings," she cried, with the fervour almost of inspiration, "will avail against a fiend's malice. Why should they be? She and Ramage were friends, very good friends. She perceived that his countenance was only composed by a great effort, his features severely compressed. "Can't you guess?" returned Winifred, throwing her arms about her neck. He still wore his hat, to show that the days of miracles and Christ being civil to sinners are over forever. A delicate flush of colour streamed into her cheeks. "A little suffering will do him good.
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