“I trust you altogether. “My dear girl,” he said, in a tone of patient reasonableness, “you are a mere child. I do not think that I have the Bohemian spirit at all. ‘Idiot!’ ‘Enough, now! Softly, you little termagant,’ he ordered, seizing her wrists to hold her off. “Let us escape,” she said. No matter what they do, always someone to bolster them up, to lend them money, and to coddle them. With his arms bare, the neckband of his shirt tucked in, he laboured. All these things spoke of peace;—but there are seasons when the pleasantest external influences have a depressing effect on the mind, by painfully recalling past happiness.
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