I never even burrowed down into the trunk. I’ve always had a sneaking desire for the writing-trade. There was a strip of old rose brocade in the making that set an ache in the girl's heart for the want of it. The latter looked very pale, either from the effect of his wound, which was not yet entirely healed, or from suppressed emotion,—partly, perhaps, from both causes,—and wore his left arm in a sling.
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