Stanley, standing on the hearthrug with his back to the unlit gas-fire. “My husband!” she laughed a little derisively. E. He took a handful of the gravelly mud, with which the platform was covered, and threw the small pebbles, one by one, towards the gleam. "Is this a season to speak on such a subject?" "Perhaps not," rejoined the woollen-draper; "but the uncontrollable violence of my passion must plead my excuse. ‘No need to upset yourself. My heart misgives me.
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