"My little Hoddy! You used to love me; and I have always loved you. You don’t know what you’re saying, and I hope you never will. All this muddle to placate his conscience! "Here—quick!" McClintock thrust a cigar into Spurlock's hand. Wood. "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. When I promised to marry you I thought I could; I thought it was a possible arrangement. Spurlock advanced, the censer swung high.
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