Let me keep him. “Ann Veronica,” he said, “I tell you this is love. It was a brief solitude, however. I might utter a million, and still I doubt if I could make you understand. And so bitterly did the carpenter reproach himself with his neglect, that he resolved, at all risks, to go back in search of it. The doctor said you wrote. In a little while—to-morrow—all these tender, beautiful emotions will pass away, and I'll become what I was yesterday, a cynical, miserly old spinster. "He's not to blame," said Jack, rising.
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