She closed the book that she had been pretending to read and gathered her black umbrella and her backpack, a childish accoutrement she despised. Oh dear!—how sorry I am I ever left Wych Street. A cold shiver ran through her frame, and her gentle spirit passed away for ever. I’ve got a lot of things to think about. I imagine that even you must realize that this is of some importance. And how much I owe you, too, dearest Winifred, for your kindness and attention. I understand. I am quite sure that I do not know you. Wood,—the person whom you may remember adopted him,—at Dollis Hill, near Willesden; and it's a singular but fortunate circumstance, so far as we are concerned, that Mrs. Besides, you've secrets which must not be disclosed.
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