I needed a man the worst kind of way—a man I could keep for at least six months. Turning now, and running down the terrace. He had informed her that to leave him would be a choice to live a life of meager subsistence. “Who’ll mind the baby nar?” was one of the night’s inspirations, and very frequent. He renewed his supplications to Sharples, but with no better success than heretofore; and the greater part of the night was passed by him and the poor widow, whose anxiety, if possible, exceeded his own, in the most miserable state imaginable.
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