You are your nephew's executioner, or he is yours. No matter what the fire and force of his passion, it falters eventually, and forever after smoulders or goes out. ” She replied weakly. " "Loved me! You!" "I loved you," continued Jonathan, "and struck by your appearance, which seemed above your station, inquired your history, and found you had been stolen by a gipsy in Lancashire. ‘Truth is, it’s Gerald who’s put me in the devil’s own temper, ma’am. But now that this bar is removed, I trust I may, without impropriety, urge it. The prisoner breathed with difficulty.
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