From time to time she would come upon a line of singular beauty or a paragraph full of haunting music; and these would send her rushing on for something that never happened. "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. ” She turned abruptly at right angles to the path they followed. . ” She said. No— no, it must never be.
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