” He declared. Oh, the beautiful books! Romance, adventure, love stories! She gathered up the books in her arms and cuddled them, as a mother might have cuddled a child. I love you more. I do not love any one. “It’s odd—I have no doubt in my mind that what we are doing is wrong,” he said. "Ah!" he exclaimed, in a tone of anguish. " "Take time to consider of it," replied Wood sulkily, "there's no hurry. I was helpless. She rambles continually about Jack, and her husband, and that wretch Jonathan, to whom, as far as can be gathered from her wild ravings, she attributes all her misery. Wood's famous 'prentice?" "What apprentice?" asked the stranger, in surprise. I arranged that he should. ‘I can’t think how I’ve tolerated myself all these years. "Help!—murder!—thieves!" screamed Mrs.
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