It was at the age of five, when it became clear that she would not be followed by a brother, that he became more distant towards her and stopped adoring her. "He will be murdered!—Help!" "My child!—my love!" cried Wood, dragging her forcibly back. She realized more and more the quality of the brink upon which she stood—the dreadful readiness with which in certain moods she might plunge, the unmitigated wrongness and recklessness of such a self-abandonment.
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