“Your friend, “DAVID COURTLAW. His tongue was more ready, his wit more keen than usual. I'm ashamed to say that I was too much terrified to scream out—but ran and hid myself. “Why did you ever let me love you? Why did you ever let me peep through the gates of Paradise? Oh! my God! I don’t begin to feel and realize this yet. A skeleton was propped against the mantelpiece. I was compelled to run away. Perhaps it was loneliness. The lad looked alarmed.
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