But you must promise me not to go near that abandoned hussy at Willesden. You are all that I am or hope to be—the celestial atom God put into me at the beginning. A woman indeed this to love and be loved, beautiful, graceful, gay. “I heard nothing,” he declared, “and my ears are good. The cart, meantime, had approached the fatal tree. The air was sweet with the smoky perfume of myrrh, hazy and dense with incense.
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