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And when you reflect how much at heart your poor mother, whose loss we must ever deplore, had our union, you will, I am persuaded, no longer refuse me. There was a hint of tears in her voice. A shout was heard at a little distance, and, the next moment, a person rushed with breathless haste to the stair-head. But I don’t care; I haven’t a spark of shame. F. The Dawn Pearl. ch. I have only just left Wych Street.
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