" "Poor soul!—poor soul!" groaned Wood, brushing the tears from his vision. One mistress enough to ruin a man,—two, the devil. These petals! I’ve been wanting to cry all the evening, cry here on your shoulder for my petals. I will be as silent as the grave. She liked the high, easy swing of the thing over its big wheels, the quick clatter-patter of the horse, the passage of the teeming streets. While I am talking about your friends, I feel—I think you ought to know how I look at it.
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