“I am so sorry to have startled you,” she said, “but I was startled myself. " "My wealth," replied Mrs. The door into the passage offered itself with an irresistible invitation—the one alternative to a public, inexplicable passion of weeping. Her aunt, a faded, anæmic-looking lady of somewhat too obtrusive gentility, was still sitting with her hand pressed to her heart. The rumor mills churned with the news that he harbored for her no ill will, but was simply too busy in his life to have a girlfriend that wasn’t “serious”.
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