When first brought under consideration, she was a miserable and forlorn object; squalid in attire, haggard in looks, and emaciated in frame. "You are alone?" said one of the spinsters—Prudence Jedson. And when you reflect how much at heart your poor mother, whose loss we must ever deplore, had our union, you will, I am persuaded, no longer refuse me. The winters were bitter here, they could have just as easily been frozen off.
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