I can esteem him, regard him; but, love him as he ought to be loved—that I cannot do. She was a merry creature, it is true, and quite beautiful. After all, what did it matter?—it or anything else in the world? She was within reach of his arms, beautiful, compelling, herself as it seemed suddenly conscious of the light which was burning in his eyes. " "But, Lord, man!—don't you ever get lonesome?" "Don't you?" "I'm too busy. I give myself to you.
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