It is not, my dear Veronica, that I think there is any harm in you; there is not. It is only the women matter. Years ago, when you were a girl and in the bloom of your beauty, I loved you. No matter what the fire and force of his passion, it falters eventually, and forever after smoulders or goes out. Just then—I was nervous. E. I have been stupid and foolish. gutenberg. net 1.
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