The wedding procession passed on, and the cynical rabble poured in behind. CHAPTER XXXI. The summer arrived, speeding the Plague and with it the famine in the streets. She dropped the locket into its sweet hiding place. This was not the sort of confession which he had been expecting. “Where is she?” He would yell even louder until she was sure that people in faraway fishing boats could probably hear him. A man might be without relatives, but certainly he would not be without friends, that is to say, without letters.
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