" "And I trust you will never have occasion to weep again, my poor soul," replied Wood, setting down his lantern, and brushing a few drops from his eyes, "unless it be tears of joy. ‘Yes, that is reasonable. Perhaps I ought not to; but this isn't a case to fiddle-faddle over. The three young men exchanged expressive glances. They used to marry us off at seventeen, rush us into things before we had time to protest. I must break open the door. Wood, in equal trepidation.
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