"You are my prisoner. "I beg your pardon," he cried; "but really—ha! ha!—you must excuse me!—that is so uncommonly diverting—ha! ha! Do let me hear it again?—ha! ha! ha!" "Upon my word," rejoined Wood, "you seem vastly entertained by my misfortunes. These passers-by who touch us but lightly and are gone, leaving the eternal imprint! So long as she lived, Ruth would always remember that embrace. “Who do you think cares for your children as you dally with my husband, Clotilde?” Lucy asked. She gave tongue to the most urgent of her plaints.
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