Poor fellow! he sometimes indulges the hope of marrying you, when he grows old enough. "You are my prisoner. You seemed, he thought, to have some grievance which you would not explain and which he thought must arise from a misunderstanding. If it wasn’t for the fear that after all—but we won’t think of that. She felt like a dried-up old woman. Conscience was always digging sudden pits for his feet and common sense ridiculing his fears. “I am sorry for the way I acted, Lucy.
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