‘Oh, I don’t wish to marry you. We girls, my sister and I, were left quite alone when our father died, and I made up my mind to make some little place in the world for myself. It came with an extreme effect of re-discovery, a remarkable novelty. It was a boy baby cooing in swaddling clothes, a baby who had just been born to the butcher's servant across the alley, the maid Isobella who trailed behind, beaming. They were alike in one phase—loveless and lonely. "Weigh anchor, Van!" he shouted to the skipper, "and consult your despatches. Books! She knew now what had saved her—her mother's hand, reaching down from heaven, had set the giver's flaming eyes upon the covers of these books. You have threatened to kill me for nothing, I know not how many times. His was the Latin turn of thinking; he had fallen in love at thirteen, and he was still capable—he prided himself—of falling in love.
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