A new inexplicable madness that urged him to shrill ironically the story of his coat—to take it off and fling it at the feet of any stranger who chanced to be nigh. " "Give me the brandy, and I'll tell you," replied Wood. Stay me with flagons, comfort me with apples, for I am sick of love. “You poor child!” he said; “don’t you see the infinite folly of these proceedings? Think! Think of the love and affection you abandon! Think of your aunt, a second mother to you. More importantly, she had her wits.
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