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But all that could be ascertained in the village was, that a man had ridden off a short time before in the direction of London. The joy of being loved thrilled her as nothing before had ever done, a curious abstract joy which had nothing in it at that moment of regret or even pity. “I wish you would not do it. Her body was perpetually tanned, despite the approach of winter. ‘I should not dream of forcing my attentions on you. His throat filled; he wanted to weep. The lady's name's engraved inside, but so small I can scarcely read it.
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