“It was my sister Anna. "As it's getting late, and the porter may be gone to bed," he observed; "I'll take the pass-key, and let myself in. At this time of universal havoc and despair,—when all London quaked at the voice of the storm,—the carpenter, who was exposed to its utmost fury, fared better than might have been anticipated. "How long shall I be here?" he asked. I mean—I mean to do what I can. I’ve loved her for two years, I love her now.
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