We don’t consider each other; we needn’t. "I guess who you mean," rejoined Shotbolt. She offers me no explanation, permits me absolutely no hope. “Perhaps your engagements are made for you. 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.
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