” “You may be sure of the one,” she murmured. “We won’t. You're rich. He's more like a lord than—" As she spoke, steps were heard approaching; the door was thrown open, and a young man marched boldly into the room. ‘At last,’ he cried, ‘I have found you!’ He would listen to nothing. I asked her to marry me, and she consented. He began to think of speeches, very firm, explicit speeches, he would make. The Night-Cellar XVIII. ‘You were supposed to be nursing him,’ Martha grumbled, ‘and helping him convalesce. “Thank you—for coming,” he said.
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