She pushed him gently on the chest. The cloth was removed, and Wood, drawing the table as near the window as possible—for it was getting dusk —put on his spectacles, and opened that sacred volume from which the best consolation in affliction is derived, and left the lovers—for such they may now be fairly termed—to their own conversation. I had no right to marry you. My Dad doesn’t want it necessarily, but he realizes that if he doesn’t give my 185 Mom this one it’s divorce for sure.
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