“Aunt!” she said, “I can’t—” Then she caught a wild appeal in her aunt’s blue eye, halted, and the door clicked upon them. Back, that you may be close together. Kneebone—she was too well acquainted; having, more than once, been obliged to repel his advances; and, though his impertinence would have given her little concern at another season, it now added considerably to her distraction. But you will, you will. Blotted out—Love! With infinite care, through nearly a thousand pages, her father had obliterated the word Love. “I hope you’re satisfied. If you’ll forgive my saying that, and implying what goes with it.
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