‘Ain’t no call for you to go a-blaming of yourself. My letters are returned unopened, her maid will not even allow me across the doorstep. Men had tried to kiss her— unshaven derelicts, some of them terrible—but she had always managed to escape. “Oh! I wish,” she said, “that people thought alike about these things. All her protests seemed stifled before she could find words to utter them. He was in love with her! She tried to grasp all the welter of values in the situation simultaneously, and draw some conclusion from their disorder. I would have married her long ago, but she will not have me. “I’ll be hanged if I do.
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