" "That likeness is the chief cause of my misery," replied the widow, shuddering. ” “It is you,” he cried, “you, who are talking folly, when you speak of friendship between you and me. She noticed that this trunk was not littered with hotel labels. He looked at his port wine as though that tawny ruby contained the solution of the matter. He was and always would be dramatizing his emotions; perpetually he would be confounding his actual with his imaginary self.
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