Pure romantic nonsense on her part. “Will he die?” she asked. . . Her companion was a portly handsome man, also dressed in a full suit of the deepest mourning, with the finest of lace at his bosom and wrists, and a sword in a black sheath by his side. The fever came. "As sure as one reasonably can be. “You underestimate your own sickness, and the ill humors that struck you may strike again. It is no crime, none at all. They talked for the better part of an hour, and at last walked together to the junction of highroad and the bridle-path. And the change, the change of attitude! The way all the old clingingness has been thrown aside is amazing.
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