But never had the hand touched her with a father's caress; never had he taken her into his arms; never had he kissed her. I ought never to have thought of it. Wood in the deepest mourning. She came back with two women, one in each arm, which she threw down like sticks as she alit onto the stone causeway. "Is this a season to speak on such a subject?" "Perhaps not," rejoined the woollen-draper; "but the uncontrollable violence of my passion must plead my excuse.
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