Stay me with flagons, comfort me with apples, for I am sick of love. \"So John, are you two lovebirds going to the Junior Prom or what?\" He paused, smirking. He had but to give his orders. 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.
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