She took up one of her father’s novels and put it down again, fretted up to her own room for some work, sat on her bed and meditated upon the room that she was now really abandoning forever, and returned at length with a stocking to darn. They were delighted. . " "And were I in yours," rejoined the woollen-draper, "I should be doubly apprehensive, because he's a professed friend. Heard of your last escape. All her pride raged at me. ‘Leonardo again,’ he growled. It’s the poor dears who do, who know they will, know they can’t keep it up, who need to clutch at way-side flowers.
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