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You know they say, as, indeed, I have just quoted already, that all bad poetry is written in a state of emotion, but I have no doubt that this is true of bad offers of marriage. “My sister,” she murmured, “is so independent. ” She lifted steadfast eyes to him. "It's better," observed Sheppard, meaningly. " "And what are you going to do with her, supposing I'm fool enough to take this boy with me?" "Send her to my people, in case she cannot find her aunt. She was almost tempted to tell him, if only to see the cracks of surprise and incredulity break the immobility of his yellow countenance. And turning again, as if the emotions she had churned up kept her on the move, she paced back to the mantel and there stopped, staring at her own reflection in the tarnished mirror. The carpet was a quiet drugget and not excessively worn, and the bed in the corner was covered by a white quilt. I can’t stand it. The fibre of his soul had to be tested, queerly, to make him worthy of you.
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