This species of madness cannot properly be attributed to his illness, though its accent might be. ‘But for my dowry, what else? One cannot expect that an Englishman will marry any jeune demoiselle without a dowry. I can fairly understand Ruth; but you…!" "Have you ever been so lonely that the soul of you cried in anguish? Twentyfour hours a day to think in, alone?… Perhaps I did not want to go mad from loneliness. All three, then, burst into an immoderate fit of laughter. .
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