He sent me home. Or had she, like himself, been held up until the fellow returned to town? He waited, his ready humour anticipating her likely reaction. And when you reflect how much at heart your poor mother, whose loss we must ever deplore, had our union, you will, I am persuaded, no longer refuse me. "Do you know what you make me think of?" "What?" "As if you had stepped out of some old family album.
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