“I have no wish,” he said, “to altogether ignore the fact that you are my wife’s sister, and have therefore a certain claim upon me. She speedily reached her own abode,—a little cottage, standing in the outskirts of the village. ” Lucy retorted, “Well, I’m not going to make the yearbook anytime soon dressed like this, am I. Stay me with flagons, comfort me with apples, for I am sick of love. Pshaw!" added he, making an effort to subdue his emotion, "I can't leave you in this way. “Yes.
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