“Does he never speak to you of—of old times?” she faltered. I do not love you. What!— you know so little of that child? She ran away from you. Even if he were an old friend, you couldn't afford to do it. I’m a little tired. This was no night for the indulgence of dreamy musing. I could not dream of loving you. I've a shrewd guess where he's taken refuge; but I'll ferret him out. Tears sprang to her eyes. So am I.
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