You must forgive the poet’s license I take. " Soon after this Mrs. ‘Nevertheless, you will marry me,’ he snarled. She was chaffing him about being taken for Meysey Hill, and suggested that he should be presented to me as the millionaire. I’ve tried to use my authority. Jacques, Jacques!’ His face was white, but his eyes were open, if a trifle glazed. Poor soul! she nearly died when she heard he had robbed his master; and it might have been well if she had done so, for she never afterwards recovered her reason. She thought of how much she wanted to eat the foods she had once feasted on that now smelled as innocuous as spring flowers.
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