Perhaps I ought not to; but this isn't a case to fiddle-faddle over. He has no imagination, no real generosity. He had promised her some books, for she had voiced her hunger for stories. Closing the door, Jonathan next produced his lantern, and, hastening towards the window, undrew a bolt by which it was fastened. “I want my life to be beaten gold just in order to make it a fitting setting for yours. Why, is the question I would like answered. Living, he knew that he would never send that letter. "By all means," returned Wood; "don't delay an instant.
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