The thing rankled in her mind night and day. He turned irresolutely to the table upon which lay the scattered leaves of his old manuscripts. She says she will have to, though she does not wish to. “If I had three hands,” she said, with a faint smile, “I would give one to each of you. "I could almost forgive the wretch the injury he did me in depriving me of my poor dear wife—No, not quite that," he added, a little confused. .
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