"Harkye, Sir," rejoined Darrell; "one word before I move. I cannot have my wife distressed or worried. She spoke slowly. 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. She tended the twins while the Clotilde was in Sebastian’s private chambers, a place she gave a wide berth.
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