You have grown into my life, and I cannot tear you out. Spurlock plodded through the heavy sand, leaden in the heart and mind as well as in the feet. Rousing himself, he went to the door. It is positively hateful to think of it. “Annabel;” he moaned. The walls are too high, and the windows too stoutly barricaded in this quarter, to admit such a supposition. Winds returned, the gardens withered, and roses would not bloom. "I opened the padlock with this crooked nail, which I found in the floor. The haste to send her upon her way now had but one interpretation—the recognition of his own immediate danger, the fear that if this tender association continued, he would end in offering her a calamity quite as impossible as that which had happened—the love of a man who was in all probability older than her father! The hurt was no less intensive because it was so ridiculous. I do not want to get only a second-hand flavour of life. So this was what it was all about.
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