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She drank and drank until his body was a lifeless husk, as light as a mannequin, virtually hollow of all but the fluid in his bones. "He lives at Dollis Hill, a beautiful spot near Willesden, about four or five miles from town, where he has taken a farm. I shall never come back. 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. You belong to me, and I have waited long enough. You denied it at the time—but unfortunately I have proof. Men in this part of the world drink to forget the things they have lost. "I'm going back for Ruth. How was I to know what would happen? He always said if he couldn’t get you a dowry, you could take the veil.
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