"May come!—it will come!—it shall come!" cried the carpenter, shaking his hand menacingly at him. She thought of the marvellous beauty of skin, and all the delightfulness of living texture. And yet, she would be easy prey in her present state of mind to any plausible, attractive scoundrel. “You poor child!” he said; “don’t you see the infinite folly of these proceedings? Think! Think of the love and affection you abandon! Think of your aunt, a second mother to you.
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