When I think of the love you give me—One ought to give you back love. At the recollection that it was his, she seemed to fall through a thin surface, as one might fall through the crust of a lava into glowing depths. She shook her head. And now you must go back, take up your work and think all this over. ‘Well, what was I to think, miss? Martha never wrote nothing about you, and I did ask.
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