"My own father!" Queerly the room and its objects receded and vanished; and there intervened a series of mental pictures that so long as she lived would ever be recurring. “Shopman. ” For a moment she was grave. “Run in now. “I have loved you,” he was saying, “ever since you sat on that gate and talked. " "You are an angel, I say," continued the poor maniac; "and my Jack would have been like you, if he had lived. . . He wrote poems to her beauty that he recited from a seemingly infinite memory.
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