Probably a sick man's whim. The thing rankled in her mind night and day. ‘Dieu du ciel, but answer me!’ Martha’s eyes were swimming again, and she reached out. She meditated long and carefully upon her letter to her father before she wrote it, and gravely and deliberately again before she despatched it. Love stories! It was of negligible importance that these books were bound in paper; Romance lay unalterably within. I picked up her handkerchief on the floor. .
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