Her aunt was making herself cuffs out of little slips of insertion under the newly lit lamp. “You are not content then with stealing from me my name. Her cheeks seemed to burn, her veins ran riot, and her heart was beating so fast that she was sure he must feel it through his scarlet coat. Her eyes were lit with smouldering passion. "You will make me the happiest of mankind," cried the woollen-draper, falling on his knees, and seizing her hand, which he devoured with kisses. Is there anything you want?" She laid her hand on his forehead, and found it without fever.
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