“You propose, then,” she remarked, “that I shall still be saddled with a pseudo husband. The thought of their faces, and particularly of her aunt’s, as it would meet the fact— disconcerted, unfriendly, condemning, pained—occurred to her again and again. But, if you've a spark of love for me, don't meddle with anything in that house. Wood," she continued, with a sudden change of tone, and convulsively clutching the carpenter's arm, "promise it me. " "None whatever," replied the mob.
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