“Yeah. Leave me my blanket! I'm very cold at night. “Is that not rather a profitless speculation, my friend?” He seemed deaf to her interruption. Or had she, like himself, been held up until the fellow returned to town? He waited, his ready humour anticipating her likely reaction. It’s the poor dears who do, who know they will, know they can’t keep it up, who need to clutch at way-side flowers. But it was otherwise with the carpenter. You know not what a wretched guilty thing I am. Yet he was in a state of hopeless bewilderment.
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