" "There's but one way of clearing it, your worship," said the Master, archly. “Why did you ever let me love you? Why did you ever let me peep through the gates of Paradise? Oh! my God! I don’t begin to feel and realize this yet. His own heart was too full of melancholy foreboding. The overnight nervous strain began to tell; she became inattentive to the work before her, and it did not get on. “I wonder,” he said, “how you would like to be made love to—boldly or timorously or sentimentally. Ruth and Spurlock separated, the one embarrassed, the other utterly dumfounded. " "You are an angel, I say," continued the poor maniac; "and my Jack would have been like you, if he had lived. What is the use of it? I do not wish to marry you.
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