"And yet—but it is only part of the chain of ill-luck that seems wound around me. She could not make up her mind which was the finer, more elemental thing, which gave its values to the other. To be near someone, even someone who made a pretense of friendliness, to hear voices, her own intermingling, would serve as a rehabilitating tonic. “It isn’t objections exactly. ‘You cannot be always with me. No more did she offer her forehead for the good-night kiss. ‘No, my poor guardian,’ Gerald mocked. " "That reminds me he's still at large," returned Ireton.
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