"Can you not love him?" "Love him!" echoed the widow. The latter looked very pale, either from the effect of his wound, which was not yet entirely healed, or from suppressed emotion,—partly, perhaps, from both causes,—and wore his left arm in a sling. Anna lied to you, I lied to you. The hard work will be his, until we yank this young fellow back from the brink. You did not learn that in a convent.
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