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“I have loved you,” he was saying, “ever since you sat on that gate and talked. The individual twist was always there, even in the cleverest forgeries. By his side sat a remarkably stout dame, to whom he paid as much attention as it was in his iron nature to pay. How she had hated it!… All these mumblings which were never explained, which carried no more sense to her brain than they would have carried to Old Morgan's swearing parrot. She was never violent when angry: she became as calm and baffling as the sea in doldrums.
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