He wrote poems to her beauty that he recited from a seemingly infinite memory. He was content to talk about himself, though in the back of his clever mind he already suspected that she was not offering any details about her life. ” She tried to plan her proceedings in detail. As soon, however, as the last solemn rites were over, and the remains of the unfortunate woman committed to their final resting-place in Willesden churchyard, his firmness completely deserted him, and he sank beneath the weight of his affliction. “What do you think you are doing?” He asked.
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