"You will make me the happiest of mankind," cried the woollen-draper, falling on his knees, and seizing her hand, which he devoured with kisses. By this time, she had so far succeeded in calming herself, that she answered the greetings of the neighbours whom she encountered on her way to the sacred edifice—if sorrowfully, still composedly. He would know the truth then once and for all. Least of all myself. For a space he rode the whirligig.
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