You see, I’m selfish. “Well?” “You and all the rest of them are always lamenting that I do not marry. \"Yep. "Von't you hear me?—ough! ough!" demanded Sharples, after a pause. He was and always would be dramatizing his emotions; perpetually he would be confounding his actual with his imaginary self. He had looked at it before without comprehension. You can come back for these, for you’ll carry him to the gatehouse, that’s what you’ll do. "For the caption!" replied Jackson, coolly drawing a brace of pistols from his pockets. Winifred listened to his narration with the profoundest attention; and, when it concluded, her tearful eye and throbbing bosom told how deeply her feelings had been interested. Outside the post-office stood a nohatted, blond young man in gray flannels, who was elaborately affixing a stamp to a letter.
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