Trodger laid down their muskets and turned on them. To the duckling, peas, and other delicacies, intended for Mr. "It's wretched enough, indeed, Sir," rejoined the widow; "but, poor as it is, it's better than the cold stones and open streets. He stood a little anxious and fussy, bothered by the responsibility of her, entirely careless of what her life was or was likely to be, ignoring her thoughts and feelings, ignorant of every fact of importance in her life, explaining everything he could not understand in her as nonsense and perversity, concerned only with a terror of bothers and undesirable situations. He had, he felt, to create certain ideas and vivify certain curiosities and feelings in her. You must think it over. It would not burden him with any obligation. But the morning brought courage again, and those first intimations of horror vanished completely from her mind.
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