Pure romantic nonsense on her part. In vain Wood protested his innocence. Blotted out—Love! With infinite care, through nearly a thousand pages, her father had obliterated the word Love. In the mornings I find labour easy because I am going to see you. “Absolutely platonically,” she said. Jack hastily retreated, and taking the first means of concealment that occurred to him, descended the cellar steps.
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