Where was the harm in letting her go? She could not get far. “You know,” he muttered, “you know quite well that your troubles are far more likely to weigh upon me than my own. Taken altogether, his physiognomy resembled one of those vagabond heads which Murillo delighted to paint, and for which Guzman d'Alfarache, Lazarillo de Tormes, or Estevanillo Gonzalez might have sat:—faces that almost make one in love with roguery, they seem so full of vivacity and enjoyment. ‘Never fear, my love.
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