She crushed the letter in her hand. I dared not sing, I dared not laugh, except when you went away. One of these, a lady, evidently a confirmed invalid, and attired in deep mourning, reclined upon a sort of couch, or easy chair, set on wheels, with her head supported by cushions, and her feet resting upon a velvet footstool. I had a sort of idea,” he went on, “that you were starting life all over again, and it seemed awfully plucky. Forgive me.
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