Anyhow, that is how things are. ‘Don’t put me at the necessity of marrying the abominable little wretch. But I'd a mind to try whether you really loved him as much as you pretended. “You go home and think of all this,” he said, “and talk about it to-morrow. It’s a tremendous blow, of course—but it doesn’t kill me. The doctor laughed. It seemed to show a want of affection, to be a deliberate and unmerited disregard, to justify the reprisal of being hurt.
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