Yet in some hidden corner was a vein of sentiment, of which for the first time in his later life he was now unexpectedly aware. Her heart thudded. He was interesting and inconclusive, and the original papers to which he referred her discursive were at best only suggestive. "On my soul, yes," rejoined Jonathan. She entered the last room, his bedroom. It's always hard work for a rich man's son to stand alone. So, very carefully, he raised her in his arms and carried her to her bed.
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