" "And I trust you will never have occasion to weep again, my poor soul," replied Wood, setting down his lantern, and brushing a few drops from his eyes, "unless it be tears of joy. “Tiffany’s?” He looked at her comically. She crawled underneath the soft white sheets, reclining and pulling the blankets up to her chin. It filled her with indefinable fear. "Thank Heaven! I'm not basely born. . Mr. She confided in me yesterday. If I’d known, there would have been a different story. She felt he was going to say something more—something still more personal and intimate. For each costume she had devised a suitable form of matrimonial refusal. Here, turnkey.
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