Burn your palette and your easel. I would do anything—I would give anything to make you mine. But I dare not accept it. He could not promise that she would ever appear again in that house. Wood then led the way up a rather high and, according to modern notions, incommodious flight of steps, and introduced his guest to a neat parlour, the windows of which were darkened by pots of flowers and creepers. He wondered if these abnormal mental activities presaged illness.
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