The cloth was removed, and Wood, drawing the table as near the window as possible—for it was getting dusk —put on his spectacles, and opened that sacred volume from which the best consolation in affliction is derived, and left the lovers—for such they may now be fairly termed—to their own conversation. He blushed furiously; it was not what he had expected to hear. \"Has your heart melted, Lucia? Can you see the purposefulness of your future?\" Marina asked. It’s artificially chance.
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