‘Come on. Young, not much older than she was: she was twenty and he was possibly twenty-four. “I think we have,” he answered, gravely, and took her in his arms, and smoothed her hair from her forehead, and very tenderly kissed her lips. "My heart," rejoined Thames, firmly; "which now tells me I am in the presence of his murderer. Do you think that it makes for happiness to force oneself into the extravagant belief that love is the only thing in the world worth having, and to sacrifice for it independence, self-respect, one’s whole scheme of life.
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