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“Ruin me? Think of me with fondness? Are you dying of cancer or something?” He demanded. Usually his charges bored him with their interrogative chatter, for he knew that his information more often than not went into one ear and out of the other. They were now in a sort of cellar, at one end of which was a door. "Can you not love him?" "Love him!" echoed the widow. ” She thanked him with a look and rose to her feet. She breathed deeply, and he breathed sympathetically. '—'Oh! yes we are,' says he.
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