" "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. I can esteem him, regard him; but, love him as he ought to be loved—that I cannot do. She would become defensive—what she did would be the thing that mattered. "They have ever since been deposited in a place of safety. She traced him by his scent.
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