He daren't quarrel with me: and if he does, let him look to himself. But that's an infirmity shared by a great many sounder heads than mine. To-morrow at twelve I'll be with you, Mr. Why should she trouble herself over that young fool, who was nothing to her; who, when he eventually sobered up, would not be able to recognize her, or if he did, as something phantasmagorical? Perhaps he should not apply the term "fool"; "unfortunate" might be the more accurate application. Is this man Hill dead?” She shook her head. "How long shall I be here?" he asked.
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