She loves you too well for that. But it is my fault. The wind blew in fitful gusts, and scattered the yellow leaves from the elms and horse-chestnuts. ” He said. Go to her and tell her. Well-balanced, sane, wasn’t I? You never heard anyone call me a madman? I’m pretty near being one now, and it’s her fault. " "She is a matchless creature!" exclaimed the young man.
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