I told her I was sick today and she told me to get over myself. Annabel, tell me that you did not wish me dead. And if you mean that he may have reconciled himself with his own father, you waste your breath. ’ For a moment or two there was dead silence in the parlour. You know they say, as, indeed, I have just quoted already, that all bad poetry is written in a state of emotion, but I have no doubt that this is true of bad offers of marriage. Then she went below.
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