If ever I did meet a man I could love, I should love him”—her voice dropped again—“platonically. Old and dilapidated, the widow's domicile looked the very picture of desolation and misery. He was now at the entrance of the chapel, and striking the door over which he had previously climbed a violent blow with the bar, it flew open. They must have a key. I wonder why on earth the curtains are drawn. You speak as one injured—as though I had been the one to take your name—as though you had been the one to make sacrifices.
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