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But no matter how you phrase it, the end is the same. Wood's daughter,—to whom, I've heard tell, he was attached years ago,—was brought up, his courage forsook him altogether, and he trembled, and could scarcely stand. " "Well, think no more about it," returned Thames. The door leaned inward. Lucia had never been so happy, so content. You have converted me to—Lester Ward! You are my dear friend, you are a slip of a girl, but there are moments when my head has been on your breast, when your heart has been beating close to my ears, when I have known you for the goddess, when I have wished myself your slave, when I have wished that you could kill me for the joy of being killed by you. "Insult you! not I;" returned Figg.
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