Jacques, Jacques!’ His face was white, but his eyes were open, if a trifle glazed. Here was an appalling fact: all her previous loneliness had been trifling beside that which now encompassed her and would for years to come. "No, Sir, it's quite possible—more than possible. I shall be very sorry if I cannot have you for a friend. "Your answer, gem'men?" demanded Sharples. “I may not see the Widgetts for some little time, father,” she said. "He hears me not! he's gone!" she added, as the door was opened and shut with violence; "something tells me I shall never see him again!" When her father, a moment afterwards, issued from the parlour to ascertain the cause of the noise, he found her seated on the stairs, in an agony of grief. A nod was exchanged. But his gloom appeared to be occasioned by remorse, rather than sorrow.
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