“I made two fruit pies and now I have no one to eat them. I will shed no more blood. “This wonderful affection of yours for my sister, does it date from your first meeting with her in Paris?” He hesitated. Had he had the child to think of, he might have recovered from his grief at Mary’s death. She ought to be softened and tender and confidential at this phase of her life. A moment more and he would have been crushed beneath the ponderous board, when a slight but strong arm arrested its descent.
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