" "Too proud, eh?" rejoined the prize-fighter. " "Bring him here,—let me see him—let me embrace him—let me be assured that he is safe, and I am yours. “I’m not going to kill you, John. I don’t mind it. “You can’t imagine,” he said, “what a beastly thing a furtive love affair can be. He had saluted her with elaborate civility, his eyes distended with indecipherable meanings. What was yet more worthy of note was, that the widow's countenance had an air of refinement about it, of which it was utterly destitute before, and which seemed to intimate that her true position in society was far above that wherein accident had placed her. She ran 60 past it with melancholic dread towards the slope that led to the ocean. "I am.
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