A brief feeling of empathy with Pottiswick passed through him. I can esteem him, regard him; but, love him as he ought to be loved—that I cannot do. Love stories!… A sob rushed into her throat, and to smother it she buried her face in a pillow. Baffled in their attempt, the mob uttered a roar, such as only a thousand angry voices can utter, and discharged a volley of missiles at the soldiery.
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