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The freezing water lapped around her ankles as she ran along its edge, marveling at the thousands of tiny white spiral shells the tide had brought in. The slight smile that played upon Winifred's lips seemed to say that she was not quite so sure. Then a handkerchief was thrown over the cage, to prevent the bird from singing; it was her favourite canary. The gallant woollen-draper was now in his thirty-sixth year.
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