It isn’t sentiment but it’s horse sense. "Sit beside me," continued Mrs. . She had not thought anything could equal her despair at that moment. " "No fear of that," laughed Kneebone. In one hand she carried a long-stalked red rose, dripping with dew, in the other the post-bag. “This,” he exclaimed, “must be either the indifference of an utterly callous nature, or it may be—ye gods, it may be—innocence. She let him have it all, as it was, after all, for the last time.
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