’ ‘But you don’t look anything like her,’ burst out Mrs Ibstock. "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. My heart fails me. The man pulled up his horse grumbling, and turned round. Well, one must hope, that was all. She sighed with relief. I’m not mad that he has eyes for you instead of me, not mad at all.
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