I can esteem him, regard him; but, love him as he ought to be loved—that I cannot do. “Lucy, this isn’t funny anymore. "It was given me by poor dear Mrs. ” “I believe you,” she murmured. "Can't!" repeated his mother. It began to rain, a cold sweat of precipitation that was more sickly than refreshing. Then she uttered a strangled, ‘Espéce de bête!’ and burst into tears. But did Gerald trouble himself about her? No.
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