“Well?” “I don’t care a rap for all these things. He's neighbourly; he has a jingle for every ache and joy I've had. Take my word for it, your troubles are over. Blotted out—Love! With infinite care, through nearly a thousand pages, her father had obliterated the word Love. “What nonsense is this? What raving! My dear child, you DO live, you DO exist! You have this home. My father died a year ago, by the way. Let me keep you from that man’s clutches.
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