“Now you look happy. And so gentle as the poor creature is, when she's not in her wild fits—it would melt a heart of stone to see her. I'm used to insult as I am to misfortune, and am grown callous to both; but I'm not used to compassion, and know not how to take it. “Why?” He inquired. The wine was sweetened with cinnamon and cloves and rare edible flowers, which her father had instructed her not to drink excessively of. We meant to make it dinner and a theatre, but you were not home.
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