Still, his conscience was partly satisfied. "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. Epithalamy might do. Mr. Jonathan's vexation at the disappointment was expressed in the bitterest imprecations, and he returned as speedily as he could to the trench. ’ ‘What husband?’ ‘Precisely. “I confess it. “Sure, but it’s not like you’re married, you know.
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