"Is this a season to speak on such a subject?" "Perhaps not," rejoined the woollen-draper; "but the uncontrollable violence of my passion must plead my excuse. You must come and tell me all about it, although I am not sure whether we shall forgive you for not having written to any of us. He held her eyes. Her head rose. “I think, perhaps if you will excuse me, that we will defer the luncheon.
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