Sometimes I think she’s tired of us. “You didn’t expect that I should kiss you?” “How was I to know that a man would—would think it was possible—when there was nothing—no love?” “How did I know there wasn’t love?” That silenced her for a moment. Some one had once, in his hearing, called him a prig. What a contrast did the lovely scene she now gazed upon present to the squalid neighbourhood she had recently quitted! On all sides, expanded prospects of country the most exquisite and most varied. The boy doesn't know it, but I dug into his trunk for something to identify him and stumbled upon some manuscripts.
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