” Sir John stamped his letters, brushed his hat, and carefully gave his moustache an upward curl before the looking-glass. " "I can't! I can't—not now!" "Bat!—can't you see that she's the kind who would understand and forgive? She loves you. " "I wish I could, Joan," returned the carpenter, sadly. “Don’t you know, child, that this is torture for me? What in God’s name more can you have to tell me?” Her face had become almost like a marble image.
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