But they were too late. You mustn't go dressing up Tom, Dick, and Harry in Henry Esmond's ruffles. Her natural instincts reasserted themselves. “What do you think of that?” he asked. She admired and rather pitied him, and she was unfeignedly grateful to him. My heart fails me. At the recollection that it was his, she seemed to fall through a thin surface, as one might fall through the crust of a lava into glowing depths. When, by slow and toilsome efforts, he had arrived midway, something obstructed his further progress.
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