‘I only wish I might have won her confidence. I am sorry that I do not know any one in London. Shotbolt, who had in some degree recovered from the effects of his previous mortification, was thrown into an ecstacy of delight, and could not sufficiently exult over the prisoner. “They seem to come to you as naturally as disappointment—to other people. These petals! I’ve been wanting to cry all the evening, cry here on your shoulder for my petals. Gold-handled, too. They had cried a little, both. The truth at once flashed across his mind.
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