" "If I ask you to part with him, my good woman, it's to better his condition, I suppose, ain't it?" rejoined Wood angrily; for, though he had no serious intention of carrying his proposal into effect, he was rather offended at having it declined. As for this infatuation—it’s like some obsession, some magic thing laid upon you. Shall we sit outside and drink a petit verre of something to give us an appetite while dinner is being prepared?” “Certainly not,” she answered. They stank, and she hated how they blocked the sunlight. His thoughts, indeed, were too painful for utterance, and so acute were his feelings, that, for some time, they quite overcame him. Then to the Golden Ball, in the same street. His analytical bent saved him many times, though he was not sensitive to this. “Lady Ferringhall, sir.
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