"A vow," she answered,—"a vow to my dead husband. “We are, or rather we were, so much alike then that the portrait of either of us would have done for the other. He scratched his upper lip reflectively. He seemed to possess a penetration and cunning beyond his years—to hide a man's judgment under a boy's mask. ’ ‘Comment? But already he has made this visit—in town. “Remember,” he said, “you are not by any means a dying man now, but you’ll never pull through if you don’t husband your strength.
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