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‘She is constantly thinking of you,’ I said. The air was sharp and bracing, and the leaves which had taken their autumnal tints were falling from the trees. Without her, it was lonely. Abruptly would come the end. “There’s another instinct, too,” he went on, “in a state of suppression, unless I’m very much mistaken; a child-expelling instinct. . Wood made no reply; but, hastily kissing his weeping daughter, and bidding her be of good cheer, hurried off. ‘So it was. We can be married tomorrow in Paris.
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