He turned irresolutely to the table upon which lay the scattered leaves of his old manuscripts. Other things came. Nor Jacques. “You see,” he said, “it is doubtful if we can ever marry. The letter began: “MY DEAREST GIRL,—I cannot let you do this foolish thing—” She crumpled notes and letter together in her hand, and then with a passionate gesture flung them into the fire. " "Well, well, since you desire it, I'll say no more," returned Wood.
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