I want you to be my wife. You know—I wish I could roll my little body up small and squeeze it into your hand and grip your fingers upon it. " "Hoddy," she repeated. I fancy that this is a little more than playing at Bohemianism. Place a pistol at my ear, and shoot me, if I've told you false. ‘What Frenchman would that be, missie? We ain’t let no one escape.
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