“Are you free tomorrow? Should I call?” He asked. "Oh, lud! what's that?" exclaimed a female voice, from an adjoining room. He was and always would be dramatizing his emotions; perpetually he would be confounding his actual with his imaginary self. From head to foot he was attired in the fashionable garb of the young man of the moment. Wood was so much exhausted that he was obliged to retire to his own room, where he continued for some hours overpowered by grief.
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