Wood the best of wives. Her figure was perfect,—tall, graceful, rounded,—and, then, she had deep liquid blue eyes, that rivalled the stars in lustre. Why should I?” “At last,” he murmured, “at last I have found you. “And so you have been thinking?” her father began, quoting her letter and looking over his slanting glasses at her. “It’s nothing to what I WILL do.
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