'—'It's not to be thought of,' says I, thumping the table till every glass on it jingled; 'and I know a way as'll prevent it. I don’t think I’ve got illusions, nor you. Now, abruptly, they were real again, though very distant, and she had come to say farewell to them across one sundering year. “Who from?” She met his eye for a second and her heart failed her. I spoke a thought aloud.
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