Not entirely. The recollection of the forlorn and loveless years—stirred into consciousness by the unexpected confrontation—bent her as the high wind bends the water-reed. While he was stirring his tea, she ran and fetched the comb. “You shall,” she said. “Too late, my dear girl,” she exclaimed. “I’ve tried to make words tell it. " "Ah, my father! The way you treated him…!" "Good money after bad. “Indeed,” she said, “it was very fortunate that I should have met you this afternoon. "Dear me!" she added, as she pledged the amorous woollen-draper, "what a beautiful ring that is.
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