It’s the rarest luck, the wildest, most impossible accident. “So you still think of me as husband, even though we have long since tired of each other. . When her shock and the headache subsided, and she remembered that she had been reading the letter when Gosse had accosted her, she looked for it in vain. You know they say, as, indeed, I have just quoted already, that all bad poetry is written in a state of emotion, but I have no doubt that this is true of bad offers of marriage.
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