We all love you dearly. ” She commented, only to herself. “You remember our first meeting?” “Yes,” he answered hoarsely. “I suppose all life is an affair of chances. Checking an ominous cough, that, ever and anon, convulsed her lungs, the poor woman addressed a few parting words to her companion, who lingered at the doorway as if he had something on his mind, which he did not very well know how to communicate.
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