" "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. 175 “Before you tell me the whole story,” she emphasized the penultimate word, “just let me do something for you. You would rather live like the scum of the earth, in that little brown hovel you call a house, in bourgeois paradise. You ignore me! That’s not a good way to treat your only friend.
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