“It is in your hands from now on, Shar. She evolved a dim image of herself cooped up in a house under the benevolent shadow of Mr. I have something that weighs heavily upon my mind. I am not of the canaille, but a bourgeois. I am sorry, but you have spoilt me. 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. "Ay, what's the matter, boy!" reiterated Jackson sternly.
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