Stay me with flagons, comfort me with apples, for I am sick of love. Of course, he had no idea who I was. . ’ ‘Damnation!’ ‘What the devil ails you?’ demanded his friend, striding forward. But such was the violence of his grief,—such the compunction he exhibited, that all but one looked on with an eye of compassion. “Let go!” she gasped at him, a blaze of anger. " "That's not likely to be the case, if you go on in this way," replied Thames, sharply. "I advise you against this trip, Mr.
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