“I know nothing about your wife. It comes over the mountains, Anna, pink darkening into orange red, everywhere a wonderful cloud sea, scintillating with colour. He had looked at it before without comprehension. Anyhow, now you’ve begun it, there’s nothing to keep us in all this from being the best friends in the world. He's a hundred miles sou'-east of me. ‘But I have told you. You must think it over. She took up one of her father’s novels and put it down again, fretted up to her own room for some work, sat on her bed and meditated upon the room that she was now really abandoning forever, and returned at length with a stocking to darn. Already the seed of a tender dream was stirring. Rats and things crawling all over. He must be more or less of an age with this man. He then barred and double-locked the door, took out the key, (a precautionary measure which, with a grim smile, he said he never omitted,) thrust it into his vest, and motioning the couple to follow him, led the way to the inner room. Do you live here?" "Not exactly," answered the carpenter. “I regret that you should ever have proposed it,” he went on. I shall be very sorry if I cannot have you for a friend.
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