It would be downright cruel to disillusion her. She took up one of her father’s novels and put it down again, fretted up to her own room for some work, sat on her bed and meditated upon the room that she was now really abandoning forever, and returned at length with a stocking to darn. “It was poison—why not?” she answered. Every minute I spend here is an education to me. ‘You will like to marry me, yes?’ she pursued. " He paused, and not without malice. . You never can tell.
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