The doctor paced the room half a dozen times. The inner apartment was rather gracefully furnished with a thick, fine Turkish carpet, a good brass fender, a fine old bureau, and on the walls were engravings of two young girls’ heads by Greuze, and of some modern picture of boys bathing in a sunlit pool. I cannot let you go. "Well, you women are forgiving creatures, I must say," observed Jonathan, sarcastically. It’s just to feel—one owns one’s self. "We're forgetting," he said.
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