I’m ashamed to confess it, but I didn’t want the charge of you—a too close reminder of my own lost babe. He folded the garments carefully and replaced them on the chair. . The fibre of his soul had to be tested, queerly, to make him worthy of you. Naturally you shout yourself hoarse when she has finished, and feel jolly pleased with yourself. ‘Lord, no! I’ve a better regard for my skin, I thank you. He turned irresolutely to the table upon which lay the scattered leaves of his old manuscripts.
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