. . "Do you compare your love—a love which all may purchase—with hers? No one has ever loved me. Wood, was pronounced by that lady to be very much sprained; and she, forthwith, proceeded to bathe it with a reddish-coloured lotion. —Give me the letters, my love," she added aloud, and in her most winning accents; "they're some wicked forgeries. Every one else does.
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