He returned figuratively to his bed—the bed he had made for himself and in which he must for ever lie. Poor fellow! he sometimes indulges the hope of marrying you, when he grows old enough. ‘Don’t look at me like that,’ Martha begged. ” “Until some one takes pity on me and marries me?” He raised his eyebrows in mild appeal. ‘And I suppose I shall be obliged to endure another nonsensical tale about your husband. “It is, if anything, a little above the average,” Brendon admitted.
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