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She saw herself building up a life upon that —a life restrained, kindly, beautiful, a little pathetic and altogether dignified; a life of great disciplines and suppressions and extensive reserves. The monster, Wild, when he visited my dungeon last night, told me, to add to my misery, that she occupied a cell near me. Perhaps," she added, in a whisper, as she appropriated the beforenamed article, "he has a pocket-book. No, not one little bit. “You didn’t expect that I should kiss you?” “How was I to know that a man would—would think it was possible—when there was nothing—no love?” “How did I know there wasn’t love?” That silenced her for a moment.
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