What a mercy that the blow aimed at her by the ruffian, Wild, though it brought her to the brink of the grave, should have restored her to reason! Ah! she stirs. Like the parrot, she could memorize the lines, but she could not understand them. She slept in a bedroom clad in linens and skins, walked down hallways bedecked in the most gay and colorful frescos. . . “You’re just a boy! You grow moody and spellbound, John, and the next moment you are ecstatic.
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