"Well—well," grumbled Jonathan, "I suppose I must be content. If only sometimes he would grow angry at her, impatient! But his tender courtesy was unfailing; and under this would be the abiding bitterness of having mistaken gratitude for love. He was suddenly calm. "But you mustn't indulge these gloomy thoughts. ” He said. It may be treacherous, it may lay up a store of future woe; but it insures present happiness, and that is sufficient. He walked through the misty September night to his rooms.
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