“Why did you ever let me love you? Why did you ever let me peep through the gates of Paradise? Oh! my God! I don’t begin to feel and realize this yet. My name is Ferringhall—Sir John Ferringhall. ” He leaned towards her. I wonder what men would say if we threw the mask aside—if we really told them what WE thought of them, really showed them what WE were. "Here, Tom," he added, calling to a shop-boy, "run and fetch a constable. The men have never had so much work to do since they banded. After a little further discourse the old man took his departure. " "Oh, that!" He raised his head, staring at her in blank astonishment. The air might be cool, but half an hour without head-gear was an invitation to sunstroke.
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