"You will never leave me," sobbed the poor woman, straining him to her breast. She heard her husband’s heavy tread descending the stairs, and the wheels of his carriage as he drove off. ‘For God’s sake, let go my hand,’ he begged. She turned up dead after about eight weeks and it broke my heart. "There's the exact expression I want. I guess we could go for a ride. “Yes. Now, for the cage, my pretty canary-bird. So I made haste and recovered. And mind, your life,—more than your life—hangs upon your choice.
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