It was now getting dusk, and he could only imperfectly distinguish the features and figure of the stranger. And it filled seven sheets of notepaper, each written only on one side. "Woman, your wits are fled!" And so it seemed; for all the answer she could make was to murmur distractedly, "I can't find the key. In the end, resolution triumphed, as it was sure to do, over the weaker emotions, and he laughed at his fears. ” “Then you will really give it all up!” he exclaimed. ‘I do not wish to hear any more reasons so foolish, so do not trouble to think of them. We've got to get him to care.
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