I was sorry for what I did afterwards; for, I don't know why, but, poor, lady! with her pale face, and black eyes, she reminded me of my mother. I wrenched this off, and in an envelope addressed to me in faded ink, I found the locket and the pearls. They leave them out of novels—these incompatibilities. He agreed it was disgraceful. "Do you compare your love—a love which all may purchase—with hers? No one has ever loved me.
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