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"Where?" she cried. "Dying, Sir Rowland. "Is this a season to speak on such a subject?" "Perhaps not," rejoined the woollen-draper; "but the uncontrollable violence of my passion must plead my excuse. ’ ‘Aye, miss,’ Kimble agreed, taking the garments, ‘but where will I find you?’ ‘I do not know. It was a great weight from her shoulders to confide in another human being, and she suspected he did truly believe her.
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