“My God!” he said again. ” “We might even have—given it up for them!” “I wonder if we could. “You really couldn’t ride in it,” he said, deprecatingly. Occasionally the canvas snapped as the wind veered slightly. The recollection of the forlorn and loveless years—stirred into consciousness by the unexpected confrontation—bent her as the high wind bends the water-reed. "I know the hand—ha! my friend! and I have murdered him! And my sister was thus nobly, thus illustriously wedded.
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